Laeva Dei
by lembas7
Summary: It must be such a burden, such a curse, to be the Left Hand of God . . . Van Helsing struggles to regain his memories and his true identity, as an evil from his past threatens the Order and the life of a young boy hangs in the balance.
1. Chapter 1

Laeva Dei

He had always been a light sleeper - any noise out of place while his eyes were shut was processed within his mind and instantaneously evaluated. Non-threatening sounds faded into a dull buzz, and dangerous noises spurred an immediate, adrenaline-pumped response.

So he knew there was no threat as he blinked and quickly pushed himself out of his bedroll, leaving the few blankets discarded on the ground. The flames had died down, the camp now barely illuminated by only a few smoldering embers and the eldritch light of a three-quarters moon. He swiftly circled the fire pit, and knelt by the slight, twisting form that was now thrashing violently and brokenly crying out in horror.

"Carl," the man breathed, and then he repeated the other's name again, a little louder. "Carl!"

The friar started into wakefulness, sitting up straight and breathing hard. Gabriel Van Helsing could see the sheen of sweat on his brow. Carl's auburn hair was disheveled and damp, his friar's robes twisted and wrinkled. The two men were dressed in stained and travel-worn clothing; it had been a week since he had brought Anna to the sea and given her body to the flames, and they were returning to Rome by horse. Although it might have been faster to gain passage on a ship, both the friar and the hunter - though the latter would be loathe to admit it - were in need of rest and healing. Carl was still drained and shaky from the abuse he had received at the hands of Igor, while the toll taken on Van Helsing from his transformation manifested itself in the haggard pallor of his face and weariness of his movements. Both were still mourning the loss of Anna Valerious, and the grief was slow to fade.

The friar raised hands to his face and quickly wiped his cheeks, and Van Helsing moved to stir up the fire, pretending not to notice. "Are you all right?" he asked quietly, turning around.

Carl's blue eyes were turbulent with emotion, and he hesitantly shook his head. "I - it was -"

Van Helsing was silent, allowing the other man to try to put his sadness into words. It worried him to see Carl, his verbose and eloquent friend, at a loss for words. The young friar hid his strong, rebellious spirit behind his genius and humor, and to see him so obviously adrift, lost in a sea of grief, prompted Van Helsing to turn more towards him, showing by his open body language a willingness to talk.

This small movement was all it seemingly took to have words streaming from Carl. "I was back in the tower, when we went to find the antidote, and the bride was there - the one in pink, who brought us the proposition for the trade. Aleera," he venomously spat the name. Van Helsing nodded, eyes never leaving the younger man's face. Carl had told him of what had taken place in the tower, in the grief-laden twilight as the pyre had burned to ash and bone. "She appeared out of nowhere, after Igor closed the portcullis, and we were trapped, and Anna pushed the glass container with the antidote onto the floor. It shattered, and there was acid, everywhere.

"But in my dream. . . " Carl choked, his face twisted in a valiant effort to defy tears. His eyes squeezed shut, and he flinched as Gabriel laid a consoling hand on his shoulder. The motion told Van Helsing all he needed to know. After all, was there no greater horror than watching one friend, all unwitting, kill another?

The pause lay heavy between them, and the fire cracked loudly in the silence, sending up a small shower of sparks. After a long moment Carl took a deep breath, and another. After a few moments, he regained his equanimity. He had been able, for most part, to work past the grief of the sudden, untimely death of a close friend at another's hands. He was still plagued by nightmares, but neither man believed that those would ever truly go away.

Van Helsing inhaled deeply, and heaved his breath out soundlessly. "It's about three hours till dawn," he said, voice muted in the hush of night. "I'll take this watch. Go back to sleep, Carl."

The friar nodded, and curled within his blankets. He was asleep within minutes, and Van Helsing was worried. It was a sign of his friend's exhaustion that he hadn't protested, insisted on taking his watch. Gabriel himself was bone-weary. It seemed like an effort just to breathe, and to force his mind away from the few revelations he had gained on this trip was almost more than he was capable of. He had been awake most of the night, and had only just fallen asleep when Carl's nightmares had disturbed his slumber.

Giving up on any chance of rest, although he knew the danger in being unprepared to repulse an enemy attack, Gabriel pulled his jacket, salvaged from Castle Dracula, over his shoulders and sat with his back to the fire, so not to destroy his night vision.

The last three hours till the rising of the sun were uneventful. The day barely dawned, the sun laboriously pulling itself over the horizon to be thwarted by the heavy clouds foretelling more dreary weather. The two men were nearly out of the western edge of the Carpathian Mountains, making their way further west and south into Italy, back to the Vatican City in Rome.

Rising slowly, too tired to give the impression of strength that he had tried to project these last days to reassure Carl, Gabriel cleaned up his portion of the campsite. He efficiently, though slowly, rolled up his blankets, and groomed his dark horse. He woke Carl, and the friar started to cook breakfast, as Van Helsing finished grooming and saddling the horses and clearing all evidence of their campsite.

"We're about seven days journey from Rome," Van Helsing murmured quietly, standing from the spot where he'd broken his morning fast.

Carl glanced at him, chewing and swallowing the last of his bacon. "I'd thought we were only four," he replied, the question hovering in his tone. He stood and quickly wiped his pan with a rag after wrapping up the last of the food.

"There's no need to push the horses," Gabriel responded slowly, "And we're going to be avoiding the major cities." He smothered the fire with dirt, stamping down on the last of the embers, ash flying around his boots.

"We need to resupply," Carl pointed out, looking at the two loaves of bread remaining of their stores as he packed the pan away in his worn saddlebags. "A city or village -"

"I'm the most wanted man in Europe," Gabriel cut in without bitterness. "And right now, in our condition, we'd end up jailed and executed before Rome knew we were caught."

Wincing, Carl had to concede the point. There were definite disadvantages to traveling with Van Helsing. There was the fact that he was a wanted man, added to his barely-adequate cooking skills, his dry humor and irritating teasing. But the man did know how to be serious, and he was caring and kind, despite his awesome and lethal talents. In short, he was one of the best men Carl had ever known, and a good friend.

But now, the dark-haired head was bent with weariness, all his lethargic motions a disturbing change from the crisp, economical movements of the man who expelled his anger and unease vocally and violently. Damn-it-all, something was wrong, and it had taken Carl almost a week to see it. Cursing himself for his lack of care for his friend, who had done little else but look after him, Carl mounted his horse and quickly followed Van Helsing, who had mounted up and begun without noticing that he was lagging. He was none too late, for barely had his horse begun to move when Van Helsing pulled his steed to a stop and glanced behind him, searching for the wayward friar.

Gabriel waited until Carl caught up, and then the two began to ride together, at a steady trot, westward. The comfortable silence between them held until midday, when a river appeared directly in their path.

Dismounting, Van Helsing looked over the river and then glanced at Carl. Clearing his throat to remove the hoarseness of disuse from his voice, he said, "I think it's near time for a midday meal."

Carl grinned, relieved at the attempt at normalcy. "I was wondering when you'd get around to that. You know, this river looks deep enough to bathe."

Gabriel raised a brow at him, and said nothing.

"Bathe," Carl repeated, his irritation shining through. "It is not just something done by the clergy. We all manage it. Well, most of us, anyway. You apparently have no idea what it's like to be clean," he teased gently, wrinkling his nose.

Van Helsing grinned. "If you want to suffer through my cooking, you can go first," he offered.

Carl was off his horse, had the animal secured to a tree and was off to the river, shedding clothes right and left, in under a minute. Gabriel laughed softly, shrugging his own coat off after he secured his horse and checked Carl's.

Instead of starting a fire immediately, he scouted the area in a hundred-meter perimeter. As he circled back to where he'd left Carl, he could hear the friar singing in a wavering, but energetic tenor. To his amusement, the song was not a hymn or praise to the Lord, but a mild tavern drinking song.

Walking to his saddlebags, he reached out to open the top flap, in search of kindling, steel and flint, when he caught sight of the miniscule winged serpent on the silver ring adorning his right hand.

_". . . and the return of my ring."_

_"Do you ever wonder why you have such . . . _horrible_ nightmares?"_

_"It must be such a burden, such a curse, to be the Left Hand of God . . ."_

Van Helsing blinked, took a deep breath, and made a mistake. The instant he closed his eyes, his mind was overrun with images from terrific battles in the past. So much blood - and the screams of men dying all around him reverberated through his head. Anguish such as he'd never felt before, and hoped never to feel again, poured through him in a torrent that washed away all other feeling, taking consciousness with it.

When Carl exited the river, he was whistling cheerfully. He dried himself off with his old robes, wrapping them around himself on his way back to his horse, with its saddlebag and fresh set of clothing. He looked around the prospective campsite, and saw no fire, and smelled no food being cooked - or burned, rather. Slightly irritated, he pushed his way roughly through the foliage toward the horses, which were stirring uneasily.

When he saw the crumpled, dark-clothed form lying mere inches from the restless, stamping hooves of the horses, he froze.

The next instant, disregarding everything else, he burst into action, racing frantically across the glade, dropping his robe and sprinting the last few feet in the nude as the garment threatened to impede his progress. Carl threw himself onto his knees next to Van Helsing, scrabbling in the dirt to get near his friend.

The other man's face was pale and ashen, his entire body trembling faintly. As Carl watched, he could see Van Helsing's chest move as the other gasped in shallow breaths.

Reaching out, he gently slapped the other man's face. The coldness of his skin in the heat of the day made Carl's worry ratchet even higher.

He felt for a pulse, and raked his fingers through Gabriel's hair, searching for a bump or a cut - something that would indicate an attack. There was no sign of any wound, nothing to indicate an assault. Unsure of what he was doing, Carl grasped Van Helsing's shoulders and roughly shook him, calling his name. "Van Helsing, Van Helsing! Gabriel!"

At the sound of his given name, the other man tensed, and a low, pain-filled groan leaked from his throat.

"Gabriel! Gabriel, wake up!" cried Carl, disturbed by the tortured sound. He tried to keep his voice even, as the other man's body tensed, muscles strained to the breaking point. He began to mumble, beneath his breath, his voice growing slightly louder as he shouted within his mind.

With a start, Carl realized that he was speaking in Ancient Latin, and from his knowledge of Church Latin, which was slightly different, he began to translate.

" - _Form up the left flank, the line must not break! We must hold them off . . . No! The left-"_

The language changed abruptly, and Carl could not recognize it. The sound of the words altered once more, and he guessed the language shifted again. Four more times at least Gabriel changed tongues, the string of sound becoming ever more faint, until it drifted off and Gabriel was left, his lips moving, barely breathing, his skin cold and his mind in torment.

Carl was becoming ever more panicked, and was nearly sobbing with fear, when Gabriel's mouth stopped moving. His eyes slowly slid open, and he blinked. Carl gasped with relief.

"Van Helsing! Are you all right? What happened? Dammit, you scared me!" The last just slipped out - he'd had no intention of letting the other know just how frightened he'd been. Ignoring his questions, Gabriel blinked up at him, a frown beginning to form on his brow.

"Carl?" he asked, keeping his eyes firmly locked on the friar's.

"Yes?" the other bent over him, anxious features intent upon him.

"Where are your clothes?"

There was a strangled squawk of embarrassment and fury, and Carl's face disappeared from his vision. Wincing, Gabriel pushed himself gingerly into a sitting position, and grinned slightly at the friar who was wrapping himself in his dirty robe, which had been lying nearly halfway across the small meadow.

Carl glared at him, and Gabriel turned his back on the exasperated friar, using his horse's saddle to pull himself upright.

Blackness danced in his vision, and all noise coalesced into a buzz, fading out into deafness, before returning full force. He blinked, and saw Carl steadying him on the right. "Are you sure you should be standing just yet?" he asked. "I mean, after all, you just fainted."

Van Helsing treated Carl to a glare of his own. "I did _not_ faint," he replied.

"No, of course not. You just felt like taking a midday nap," the friar retorted snidely. "Inspecting your eyelids, I assume?"

Gabriel ignored him, releasing the horse's saddle, and took a few steps, staggering slightly.

"Are you sure you should be doing that?" Carl repeated, worry apparent under the teasing tone.

"No," Van Helsing growled.

"But I suppose you're going to anyway," Carl responded.

Not deigning to reply, Van Helsing took three more steps, reached out to a tree, and slumped at its base, propping himself up against the trunk. Carl was there immediately, easing him down.

"Thank you," said Gabriel, and he ran a critical eye over his friend. The young friar was pale with worry, his face drawn into anxious lined and his eyes probing for injury. "I'm fine. Go get dressed."

Acknowledging the practicality of that statement, Carl moved the two yards to the horses, retrieved his clothes, and dressed in record time. Unlike the werewolf bite, Carl knew almost nothing about regular injuries, and had no references with him to ascertain the cause behind the frightening incident of a few minutes ago. Therefore, he was back at Van Helsing's side within moments.

Gabriel, for his part, leant his head against the tree and closed his eyes, absently running his fingers over the ring on his hand. He pulled the item off, and then stared at it.

"Have you ever had an episode like that before?" asked Carl, unwittingly startling the hunter. Gabriel had unsheathed one of his spinning blades before he registered that the threat was just Carl. "Jumpy, are we?"

"No," Van Helsing responded to both questions. "Nothing like that's ever happened before, that I can remember." He momentarily examined the blade before re-sheathing it inside the holster up his sleeve.

"Speaking of which, what do you remember? I was surprised when you began speaking in Latin, but at least I could understand it. When you switched, I had no idea what you were saying."

"I - _what?"_ asked Gabriel, his face a portrait of surprise.

"You were speaking in tongues," said Carl. Gabriel made a face at how that statement sounded, and Carl rolled his eyes. "And what is that?" the friar continued, reaching over to pluck the ring from where it rested in Van Helsing's palm.

"Dracula's," said Van Helsing. He was slightly surprised that Carl hadn't seen him wearing it before.

"Spoils of battle?" said the friar with a disgusted look on his face.

"No. At least, I don't think so. I only have his word that it was his, anyway," Gabriel replied thoughtfully.

Carl was turning it over in his hand, examining the odd piece, when he heard Van Helsing's statement. "Care to elaborate?"

"It was one of the few things I had when the Church found me four years ago," Van Helsing said quietly. "Dracula saw it, recognized it. He was missing his right ring finger, and claimed I had taken the ring from him."

"But he was a vampire. They can heal anything, even a removed limb. The only way for him to be missing a finger is if he lost it before he was murdered in 1462. And that means -" Carl broke off, his eyes widening as the implications sank in. "It means that if his finger was cut off and his ring taken before he was killed - and you have the ring -" Carl broke off, forming his own conclusions. "But that was in 1462," he said at last.

"You asked," Van Helsing replied, circumventing the unasked question. "Besides, that train of logic proves nothing. It could have been given or sold to me." He rubbed a hand over his face and pushed himself to his feet.

"Wait, what are you doing? Where are you going?"

Van Helsing rummaged through the saddlebags of his gelding, taking clean clothes and grasping a bar of soap. He raised a brow, glancing over his shoulder and replied, "I'm going to bathe."

Mouth opening and closing in frustration, Carl stared at the hunter's retreating back. Closing his jaw with a snap, he gathered kindling and tinder, collecting the flint and steel. Within moments he had constructed a fire ring and was working to start a fire. With the ease of practice, he soon had flames licking gently over the dried grass and bark. He built up the fire and began to prepare the cooking utensils.

At the river, Van Helsing stripped and slipped into the water. He had few scars, testimony of his skill as a hunter. The werewolf bite had healed without a mark. The curse of lycanthropy brought with it impressive healing powers that had made short work of the painful wound, despite the brevity of his time as a werewolf.

In four years, most of his scars were faded and barely noticeable - some had completely disappeared. Sometimes he wondered if he should heal this completely, for he knew that others kept their own scars all their lives, but he dismissed such thoughts as folly, and did not mention this oddity to anyone.

Banishing all thought from his mind, he quickly and thoroughly scrubbed, removing grime and dirt of the road from his skin. Would that blood could be cleansed so easily, he thought, before climbing out and drying himself with grass. He squeezed the water from his hair, and pulled on his clean clothing. Then, he used a small scrap of soap to wash his garments. Holding the dripping clothes, he returned to the horses and draped the clothes over tree limbs to dry.

Van Helsing glanced at the fire, which he could see burning merrily, and Carl, who was carefully dropping seasoning into a bubbling pot. Shaking his head, a small smile gracing his full lips, Van Helsing untied the horses from the tree limbs and picketed them in the meadow to graze.

He returned to the fire, dropping the saddlebags near a conveniently-placed log. Sitting, he removed his weapons and began to work. First, his rotating blades were cleaned, the spin mechanism oiled and cared for. Next, his guns were all checked, the chambers and barrels cleaned and loaded. An assortment of small knives were cleaned, honed, and secreted about his person. Lastly, he attended his crossbow, oiling the moving parts, replacing the string, and reloading the canister of arrows. When he set the final weapon aside, he counted the supplies remaining in the traveling armory. There was just enough to see them safely home, he decided.

He looked up. Carl was holding a bowl right in front of his nose. "Do you want it? Otherwise, I'm hungry," Carl said.

"When are you not?" Van Helsing asked, taking the bowl. He picked up his spoon and lifted a bite to his lips. His hand froze an inch from his mouth. "What's in it?" he asked, hoping his voice sounded casual. "Or do I really want to know?" he muttered under his breath.

"Fresh watercress, ramsoms, some tubers and wild carrots and onions, a few leeks - nothing deadly, unlike that stuff you cooked up and tried to feed me last week."

"It wasn't deadly. If I wanted you dead, there's other ways of doing it," Van Helsing joked, returning the friendly jibe.

"Not with your skills, I should imagine," Carl shot back. The amicable banter lasted through the meal, which extended into the afternoon.

After clearing away the cooking utensils, Van Helsing noted the low position of the sun. "Camp here tonight," he said simply, and Carl nodded after glancing at the length of the shadows.

"I'll take first watch," Carl offered, and Van Helsing raised a brow in surprise. Carl was returning to the pattern of life, taking on a share of the burden once more. A sign of healing? Van Helsing hoped so.

Gratefully, he rolled himself into his blankets as the sun went down, turning in early as exhaustion pulled at him, drowning him within the pitch-dark realm of sleep.

_"Have you ever wondered why you have such . . . _horrible_ nightmares? Images of horrific battles of ages past?"_

_"We have such - history, Gabriel."_

_"We could be friends . . . partners . . . brothers in arms!"_

_"Did I mention . . . it was _you_ who murdered me?"_

_"You're being used, Gabriel . . . "_

_"Such a burden, such a curse . . ." _

_" . . . the return of my ring . . ."_

_" . . . to be the Left Hand of God."_

Van Helsing slowly crawled his way to awareness, dazed and confused. He heard a low, tortured moan softly push past his lips, and recognized anguish in the barely audible sound. The sound of his name shocked him into wakefulness, and he shifted, his eyes snapping open. The misery within him was ripping him apart - but he did not know why.

Carl's unhappy features once again were hanging over him, and Van Helsing sat up. "What's wrong?"

"You were having a nightmare," said Carl.

Van Helsing glanced around the camp. "Is that all?"

Carl's face expressed a measure of surprise. To Van Helsing, no night was uninterrupted by demons within his sleep. Lately, the dreams had become more and more vicious, from what he could tell. Van Helsing was solitary in his suffering, unassuming, and humble. His nightmares, which Carl suspected were enough to make any ordinary man wake screaming in terror, woke the hunter every night. But the waking was strange - a slow, tortured struggle into wakefulness, rather than a noisy return to consciousness. Almost as if the memories themselves strove to bury him within their depths, refusing to release him.

Carl was concerned. The deep shadows beneath Van Helsing's eyes had been created in the last two weeks, during their journey to bury Anna, and the trip towards Rome - home, for Carl. Not Van Helsing. And the hunter said nothing about them. He slept lightly as a cat when on duty, but when he turned his watch over to Carl, the friar witnessed the cycle every night.

First, Van Helsing was pulled into deep sleep, his body limp and unresponsive even to pain (as Carl found out much to his chagrin one night after tripping over the hunter - Van Helsing still didn't know about that little accident). His breathing would become so deep and silent that Carl had had trouble discerning the rise and fall of his chest. Within an hour, the struggling began. A frown twisted itself onto the dark features, and Van Helsing's limbs moved slowly and sluggishly, as weights rather than functioning arms and legs. It would not be long after that when, exhausted, he would blink open his eyes.

Staring at the hunter, who was completely lucid although lacking in energy, Carl was worried.

"Yes," he responded to Van Helsing's earlier question, aware that the other man's sharp gaze had noted the friar's anxious study of his features.

Van Helsing raised a hand and rubbed at his face. He was thoroughly exhausted - he couldn't remember ever being so drained. And the unhappiness that poured through him was more than just overwhelming - it was not all coming from him. He could feel that something was causing it, some creature, and he was disconcerted by this knowledge.

Grunting, Gabriel freed himself from his blankets and carefully stood. He glanced at the sky, which was already lightening. "We should get ready to go," he murmured softly.

Carl frowned.

(Ok, been wanting to post this for awhile, just to see the general reactions. What do you think?)


	2. Chapter 2

The next three days were a journey in silence. Despite Carl's best efforts, he was unable to draw Van Helsing into a conversation of any reasonable length. To the considerable relief of both men, their nightmares lessened in intensity the closer the two got to Rome. And as time passed, grief for Anna Valerious became a distant thing. The subject was enough to sadden the men, but finally remote enough to prevent them from falling into the despair of raw sorrow.

With his renewed ability to derive rest from his sleep, Van Helsing was once again healthy and ready to battle. Carl was also restored, the weakness from his abuse at Igor's hands dispelled. To Carl's relief, during the last two days of their journey, Gabriel returned to his normal congenial humor, and banter once again arced between the two friends. At last, both men began healing from the trial that had wrung their emotions dry.

After completing their journey with fair weather, the two men returned to Vatican City in near the same condition under which they had departed a month ago. The beautiful capital was never free from worshippers, yet the complex of devotional areas and space for the clergy was so massive that the region in which Carl and Van Helsing usually found themselves was nigh on deserted.

The two men parted company when they reached a discreet corridor branching off from the main hall. It led to the clergy's living quarters, and eventually to the subterranean workshop which was the main complex for the Church's work.

Carl stopped for a moment, looking at Van Helsing. The two men had been friends since their first meeting, four years ago. Van Helsing, having healed from his terrible wounds and illness, had been introduced by Cardinal Jinette to the Church's true calling. When the two had met, Gabriel had been unable to hold back an ironic comment, to which Carl had dryly responded, and their friendship was fast in the making. After working and travelling with one another, the men had become even closer. For a moment, the two paused, contemplating the changed nature of their relationship, before Van Helsing held out his hand.

Carl gripped the hunter's wrist, and the two exchanged a warrior's handshake. Before the hunter could pull back, however, Carl caught him in a quick embrace. He then stepped back, and said lightly, "See you in the workshop. And this time, do try not to annoy the Cardinal, hmm?" With that, he turned and strode down the hallway, leaving Gabriel to contemplate his retreating back.

When Van Helsing reached the confessional, he stepped inside and knocked on the division between the confessor and priest. The solid wooden divider was thrown back, partially revealing the irritated features of Cardinal Jinette.

"I sent you to Transylvania to save the Valerious line, not ensure its demise," the Cardinal began, his exasperation plain.

For once, Van Helsing had no retort to make. Velkan had been transformed, but there was no such excuse for Anna's death. In one instance he had acted as a man of God, and in the other, a murderer. He was ever one or the other, and never simply a man.

__

"Some say you're a holy man. Others call you a murderer. Which is it?"

"It's a little of both, I think."

He met Jinette's gaze evenly, remaining silent. The Cardinal, despite his apparent callousness toward Van Helsing, perceived the unhappiness in his stance. "Oh, come on," he said, pulling a discreet lever in his side of the confessional.

"Thank you," muttered Van Helsing a little snidely, recovering his voice.

"Do not think that your killing of Dracula will get you off the hook this time," Jinette cautioned. "I want a full report on how you accomplished this."

Van Helsing rolled his eyes. "Perhaps you'd be better off asking Carl. After all, he was more on top of the research than I was," Gabriel replied, conveniently ignoring the fact that he had been the one who had pushed for the information which led to Carl's revelation in Castle Dracula.

The Cardinal turned and gave him an appraising look. "You may well be correct." His tone was slightly surprised, and Gabriel rolled his eyes.

The hunter followed the Cardinal down the stairwell, stopping for a moment in an alcove that was covered, floor to ceiling, with a single massive piece of slate. On it were the initials of all those who were presently out on assignment, answering the Church's calling. Every man on the list, aside from Van Helsing, was a priest or other member of the clergy. These men were sent on exorcisms, and to deal with more common occurrences of evil, such as the activities of witches, warlocks, and malignant spirits. Van Helsing's assignments were usually the more violent and dangerous. The few women on the list were all either nuns or abbey-dwellers, whose prominent works dealt with prophecy.

Van Helsing watched as Jinette used a soft cloth to erase the listing of his previous assignment, which had read: _Transylvania - Dracula & Valerious_. True to form, however, Jinette did not write in what his next assignment would be. Brushing a small quantity of white dust off his immaculate crimson robes, Jinette also wiped away the initials of another member of the Order. Gabriel noted with a brief tinge of concern the number of names missing from the extensive list.

After this brief stop, Jinette continued to the main workshop. "We have a different job for you now," he said. "For the past several weeks, members of our Order have been turning up dead. There is reason to believe that they are being murdered for the valuable work they do." By this time, the Cardinal had led Van Helsing through the groups of men working on various new tools and weapons, and had reached the general briefing area. The two men approached the projector, and Jinette nodded to a monk standing nearby. The man quickly switched on the device, and on the opposing screen appeared a picture so gruesome that Van Helsing involuntarily flinched, and turned away for a moment.

The young man on the screen was clearly dead, his sightless eyes staring out of the picture. He had been stripped naked and stretched out upon a stone floor in what Gabriel assumed was a chapel. His arms were extended straight out, his legs together, and the only thing lacking from this mockery of a crucifixion was the wooden frame. His feet and hands were nailed to the floor, and there was blood pooling beneath his back. There were gashes on his forehead, and a deep stab wound on his right side, just beneath his rib cage.

"His name was Father Williams," said Jinette, his voice low. "He was sent to a parish in the outskirts of Rome." Gabriel glanced at Jinette sharply. He hadn't thought the threat was so close to the Vatican. "He was twenty-four, and has been a member of our Order for six years. He was well trained. Very well trained. It is inconceivable to me how anyone would be able to constrain him in such a manner without any marks to show for it. There are no wounds on his body, aside from the obvious. No bruises, or puncture marks to indicate that there was a fight or that he was drugged. " The Cardinal's accented voice was soft with sorrow.

"There's a lot of blood on the floor," Van Helsing observed, detaching himself from the horror of the scene. "He was flogged?"

Jinette was surprised. "Yes, he was. How did you know that? Have you seen something like this before?"

"No," Van Helsing responded, glancing down at the table in front of him momentarily. A vivid image flashed in front of his eyes, and he pushed it aside. "But the Christ was whipped before his own crucifixion."

"This is the seventh such murder in Italy alone," Jinette replied after a short silence. "Each man killed was the only member of our Order in his parish. There were three murders in Spain, six in England, and nine in France. We receive word of another murder almost every four days. They occur with disturbing regularity, and yet from our accounts, one man is responsible for all."

The friar changed the slides, and a picture was projected up on the screen. It was a front, full body shot of a man who appeared about thirty-two. His blond hair was so light it was almost white, straight and untangled, brushing his shoulders. Pale eyes gazed out from the angular, chiseled face. His build was broad and tall, and he was strongly muscled without being unattractive. His clothes were practical, finely made and yet plain. His bearing and features were harshly angelic, and Gabriel felt an unexplainable shudder of revulsion run through his body.

"There is no obvious link between the victims," Jinette continued, "aside from their membership in our Order. They did not specialize in the same areas, they are composed of different ages, body types, and specialties within the Order. The only indication we have of movement is a north-to-south migration of the killer."

"And with the death of Father Williams, you believe that he has finally reached his goal," Van Helsing replied, studying the figure and processing all the information that had been so abruptly tossed at him.

Jinette sighed, shoulders slumping. His posture radiated weariness and defeat. "Yes. We at first did not believe this situation serious enough to merit your attention," he admitted. "After all, this man does not appear supernatural in any way. Yet, every agent we have sent after him has ended up murdered in this fashion."

Van Helsing raised a brow, still staring at the man's picture. There was something almost vaguely familiar about the man, yet simply looking at him was somehow abhorrent.

"I want you to stop this man," said Jinette. He stared deeply into Van Helsing's eyes. "No matter how. This threat _must_ be stopped."

Gabriel nodded, glancing once more at the blond man.

"And I will ask Carl to work with you once again," Jinette continued. He caught Van Helsing's surprised glance, and an expression passed over his face that, on anyone else, might have been called a smirk. "Your success working together is unparalleled. Not only did you kill Dracula, but you also destroyed his brides and all the vampires in Budapest. In addition, you killed a werewolf and the Frankenstein monster." Van Helsing kept his face blank at the last, knowing that among the many truths listed, one lie would most likely not be noticed.

"Of course," said Van Helsing.

"You two will begin to work on this situation immediately. You may use the Vatican as a sanctuary and a working base, but I beg you, do not lead this man to us."

Van Helsing nodded his understanding, and Cardinal Jinette turned back to the projector. Recognizing his dismissal, Gabriel left and began to search for Carl. The conspicuous absence of explosions and mayhem in the underground laboratory suggested that he was still in his quarters, preparing to meet with the Cardinal.

Gabriel quickly left the sublevels of the Vatican, using the confessional as an exit. Retracing his steps, he returned to the corridor leading to the living quarters of the clergy. Within the capital of Christianity, every man who was of age was somehow associated with the Order, as a spy, researcher, or agent. Thus Rome was ripe with targets for this new killer, and Van Helsing was worried for his friend.

He walked down the corridor, which in contrast to the elaborately decorated areas of worship, was plain and spartan. The stone walls and floor were bare but clean, the black mahogany and oak doors standing out against the beige marble. Upon reaching Carl's door, he knocked, listening closely for a response. He heard faintly, "_Just a minute!"_ through the wood, and waited.

A few moments later, the dark oaken door was opened slightly, and Carl's face appeared. "Van Helsing?" he inquired, confused.

"Carl?" came a light, feminine voice from inside the room.

Van Helsing raised a brow, the corner of his mouth curling upward slightly.

"I'm only a friar," Carl retorted somewhat sharply, his face coloring.

"I didn't say anything," said Van Helsing.

"Never mind." Carl's voice was impatient, his expression begging Gabriel to drop the subject. "Why are you here?"

Obliging, Van Helsing replied, "The Cardinal wants an account of our latest project from you, and we have a new assignment."

"We?" asked Carl, confusion apparent.

"That's what I said. But apparently we're more than twice as effective working together, and that's the kind of firepower this new . . . task requires," said Van Helsing, mindful of the woman in the room and being deliberately vague.

Intrigued, Carl opened to door wider, only to be stopped by Van Helsing grabbing the knob and halting the door's inward motion. "Why don't you get dressed, and I'll meet you in the archives?"

Carl blushed, and then said, "I'll need no more than fifteen minutes."

Van Helsing nodded, and the door closed. Staring at the dark wood, he shook his head, a smile on his lips, and departed.


	3. Chapter 3

Van Helsing continued down the corridor, making a left at its end, followed by another right and then a left again. The innermost hallways of the buildings in Vatican City were labyrinthine, creating intricate mazes of rooms within rooms, stairs that led up and down without actually going anywhere, and passageways that looped back around upon themselves.

Despite the complexity of the route, however, Van Helsing was actually taking the shortest path to the archives and library, where all journals, logs, and written accounts of missions were kept. The vast rooms were valuable storehouses of knowledge, kept hidden from everyone except higher members of the order. He turned left, opened the fourth door on his left, and continued along that passageway as it curled to the right, making the first left after reaching a mural of the Madonna and Child.

The corridor he was in led to one of the main areas of worship in the Vatican, its entrance concealed behind a thick tapestry depicting on e of the thirteen stations of the cross. When he reached the cloth barrier, he knew that he would have to be careful not to be seen as he exited, although the tapestry was located at the rear of this shrine, and was half-hidden behind a huge candelabra made of glowing bronze that was over eight feet high.

Gabriel carefully grasped the right side of the red tapestry, the silken thread soft under his fingers. The entire woven masterpiece was stiff, encrusted with gold, gems, and brocade. In one smooth motion, he pushed the tapestry slightly outward and moved forward and to the right, emerging behind the elaborate candelabra. Glancing in every direction to make certain that no one had witnessed his appearance, Van Helsing silently stepped from behind the tall bronze construction, and turned to leave.

As he did, something caught his eye and jogged his memory. An almost overpowering aura of evil permeated his senses, and he gasped. A fragment of recollection surged to the forefront of his mind, but as he tried to grasp it, it disappeared once more. Every nerve tingling with danger, Van Helsing swiftly surveyed the room.

He caught a glimpse of a tall, blond figure dressed in white before a side door, leading into an adjoining corridor, swung shut.

Ruthlessly shoving down a surging tide of emotion, Van Helsing raced for the door, opening it and looking in both directions. The sound of feet moving to his left indicated that the man was headed outside, where he could blend with the crowds of worshippers and disappear. The evil in the air was so potent it made him flinch.

Gabriel began to run after the footsteps, and despite his efforts to be quiet, he heard the pace of the man in front of him increase, the echo of steps resounding down the corridor speeding into a thunderous tumult. Throwing all attempts at silence to the wind, he ran flat out, pursuing the tall, blond man whom he could now see, not ten yards ahead of him, racing towards the doors leading to the outside square. If he reached them, he would be lost in the mass of devotees.

Feeling his blood pound, muscles straining, Gabriel ran after the figure in white, who was pushing his way past members of the clergy and church-goers. Gabriel leapt over a woman still sprawled where she had fallen after being shoved, and continued to gain on the man. The foul sensation of wickedness grew stronger as Van Helsing got closer. He didn't dare throw one of his spinning blades, out of fear for someone it might hit after ricocheting off the walls.

The blond man glanced back, and Gabriel saw his face, not fifteen feet away, twisted in a snarl. Light reflected off something in his hand, and Van Helsing felt a jolt of horror. The man grabbed a nearby altar boy, stopping him with a strong hand clamping upon his shoulder, and plunged the blade into his side.

The crucifix in the little boy's hands fell to the ground with a clatter. The child's scream of pain cut through the low murmurs of the worshippers, and he fell to the floor limply, a pool of blood spreading out from the deep wound. Van Helsing raced to the boy's side, dropping to the stone beside him, and pressed down on the source to halt the bleeding. The boy cried out once more, and then, mercifully, fainted from pain.

Gabriel looked up, and saw a familiar face in the crowds. "Brother Nino!"

The blond youth, scarcely seventeen, called back, "Yes?" His voice was frightened.

"I want you to run and get Father Taddeo, and bring him here immediately. Then I want you to tell Cardinal Jinette what has happened. Do you understand, boy?" Gabriel forced the words out quickly, gasping for breath.

"Yes!"

"Run!" The gangly teenager took off, and worshippers quickly got out of his way. "Everyone must move back, now!" Gabriel shouted, and his tone was unyielding. A large space was created, with himself and the injured boy at the center. He pushed aside the child's robes, to get a better look at the wound, and gasped. It was very deep, though it appeared small. Blood pumped out and Van Helsing quickly replaced his hands. The boy's body trembled with pain and shock, and though unconscious, he moaned heartbreakingly.

Gabriel did not dare stop pressing on the wound, for fear the boy would bleed to death, but he desperately needed bandages of some sort to staunch the flow. He looked to the crowd, and saw Carl pushing his way forward, demanding to know what the ruckus was.

"Carl!"

"Va - Gabriel?" The friar responded, remembering not to address the hunter by his notorious surname.

"Quickly!"

Seeing that the man was calling for the aid of the friar in their midst, the crowd parted and Carl rushed forward.

"What in the name of God happened?" Carl gasped, kneeling down opposite Gabriel. He quickly grasped the boy's outer robe and began to tear it into strips.

"Our next assignment," said Gabriel in a low voice, still pressing down on the wound. "Hurry with the bandages?"

"I am. What about our next assignment?" The words were quick and terse, both men concentrated on keeping the child on the floor alive.

"He's been murdering members of the Order. I was on my way to the archives, and I saw him. I chased him out here, and he stabbed the boy to create a diversion, and force me to stop. Amen," Gabriel breathed as Carl handed him a thick cloth pad, placing it upon the gash and pressing sharply down. "He's long gone by now."

"And he hurt this child just to stop you chasing him?" Carl's voice was high with outrage, though he was still speaking in a near-whisper.

"Yes."

Carl swore, and Gabriel was in complete agreement. "He's been unconscious almost since I began applying pressure to slow the bleeding."

"Thank heavens," Carl murmured.

"I sent Nino to fetch Father Taddeo and Cardinal Jinette. He should be back soon, but we must send these people somewhere else."

"I'll do it," said Carl, standing. "We've done all we can for Michael - he needs Father Taddeo." Rising, Carl continued in a much louder voice, "Friends, I must ask you all to move into the chapel. Healers are on their way as we speak, and in order to help young Michael, they will need room to work and to be able to move him without impediment."

"Lead them to the chapel, Carl," murmured Gabriel. "Leave them in the care of Father Dante - he'll be certain to keep them praying for several hours."

Catching Gabriel's words, Carl continued without pause, "Follow me, please, to the Chapel."

He turned and began leading the horrified worshippers deeper in to the church, opening the double doors at the far end of the hall and ensuring that all made their way inside. "Quickly, please, quickly," Carl urged, his clipped tone conveying his impatience.

As the worshippers disappeared into the Chapel, only clergy were left. Gabriel saw, to his relief, that Marius was barring the door, preventing anyone coming in from outside, and Luke and Santo were entering with a board on which to bear Michael to his quarters.

Taddeo rushed into the hallway and was immediately at Gabriel's side. "Santo, Luke," he called, his deep voice commanding. The two young men rushed to the healer's side, and placed the board down next to Michael.

"Do you want me to move?" asked Gabriel.

"No, stay where you are. Keep pressure on the cut. How did this happen?"

"It's a deep knife wound. Michael was attacked by a man that I was pursuing out of the chapel."

Taddeo's sharp green eyes fixed on Gabriel, who glanced at him, his expression impassive. Understanding flashed between them, and Taddeo's visage grew bleak. The boy shifted slightly, and Gabriel's gaze locked onto Michael's pale face. The only indication of life that came from the boy was the shallow rise and fall of his chest. "Move," Taddeo said abruptly. "Marius!" he called. The forty-something man hurried over, and Taddeo said, "Take Gabriel's place. Keep constant pressure on the wound. On three. One, two, three!"

The two men seamlessly shifted positions. "Go find the monster that did this," said the Father, his voice grim. "Luke, Santo, we're going to move him onto this board and carry him to the healing rooms. Ready?"

Gabriel stood back, and Carl joined him. The two men stayed by the wall, watching as Michael was swiftly and carefully maneuvered onto the board and carried away. Gabriel's eyes fell on the broken crucifix that Michael had been holding. It was the size of his palm, delicately carved from a pale wood. It had been crushed under the foot of the white-clad murderer, as he turned and fled. Van Helsing wordlessly knelt and gathered the pieces.

Cardinal Jinette, followed by five members of the Order, entered the room just as Taddeo, his assistants and patient, were exiting. The men crossed themselves, and Jinette looked over to where Van Helsing was straightening up from the ground, his hands and the broken crucifix covered in Michael's blood.

Jinette's face was a portrait of shock, and he strode over to the monster slayer. "What is the meaning of this?" he hissed, voice low and intense. His eyes remained trained on the men exiting with the gravely wounded child.

His own voice equally low, Gabriel responded, "Your murderer was in the chapel." The high flush of alarm drained from Jinette's face, leaving him pale and ashen. "I pursued him from out the eastern corridor. When I came too close, he grabbed the boy from the crowd and stabbed him, to provide a distraction for his escape." Gabriel's jaw clenched, and he was filled with disgust for his failure to yet again protect an innocent from the viciousness of evil.

"This man must be stopped," Jinette whispered. For the first time in his acquaintance with the Cardinal, Van Helsing saw fear on his face. Not for himself, but for the men and children around him. The brutal attack on Michael had brought home the closeness of this new danger to all in the room, and fear and awareness of vulnerability would only grow. The man was certainly accomplishing part of his mission, Gabriel mused grimly. The members of the Order were now definitely wary, frightened and apprehensive. Steeling his resolve, he said, "Come on, Carl."

Quickly Van Helsing strode from the room, ruthlessly pulling his mind from the horror of watching a boy of no more than eight years old be brutally knifed. He looked down on the blood-smeared crucifix in his hands, and the sight of the crimson liquid staining his skin and clothes made him ill. Swallowing hard, he turned down a corridor on his right.

"Van Helsing?"

Gabriel started, turning right down another hallway. "Carl."

"Where are we going?" The friar's face was pale, but he was valiantly pulling himself together. He followed Van Helsing as he turned left.

"I need to change," the hunter responded. The corridor dead-ended, and he sighed. Reaching out with a booted toe, he pushed a block on the floor in the right-hand corner. There was a faint click, and Van Helsing said, "Carl, push the wall."

Reaching forward, the friar shoved at the right side of the wall. The bricks gave way easily, and Carl fairly flew forward as the wall swung inward on a central pivot. "Ooof!" he grunted, his fall stopped by yet another wall.

Van Helsing raised a brow.

"It has more give than I expected," Carl sputtered, looking at the massive wall he had moved.

"I keep the hinges well oiled," Gabriel returned. Grasping a candle, ignoring the bloody smears he left on the wax, he gestured toward the wall again, and Carl pushed once more, with less force this time. Just as he was wondering how it closed, Van Helsing toed a block in the left corner, and it moved back to create the impression of a seamless wall.

This corridor was completely dark. "Where are we going?" asked Carl, intrigued. He, like everyone, knew of the complex structure of the edifices in Vatican City. As a youth he had explored many of these passages. Yet he had never come across this one, although the idea of false walls had occurred to him.

Van Helsing grinned. "You're not the only one who has to sleep, you know."

"It's too dark. I suppose it's expensive to put candles in a corridor only one person uses, and not even every day, either. There must be some simple way to provide a more constant source of illumination in here."

Gabriel's smile remained in place as he listened to Carl expound on his ideas. After a few minutes of walking, the corridor turned at a right angle, and ended abruptly. In the wall on the right was a door, made of thick oak and studded with metal rivets. "Would you mind?" asked the hunter, holding out his sticky, blood-smeared hands.

Carl reached out and gently pushed the door.

"Carl - "

"No, I can get it," the friar cut Van Helsing off. He pushed harder.

The door didn't budge. "Carl - "

"It's stuck. I thought you said you kept the hinges oiled," Carl grunted, throwing all of his weight against the door. He shoved futilely for a few more minutes, then gave up, panting harshly as he leant against the wooden panels.

"Carl?" Van Helsing asked, and the friar looked up, the candlelight illuminating an expression of irritation on his normally congenial features. "Pull."

"Oh. Of course. I was just about to try that," Carl responded.

Van Helsing grinned, and Carl jerked the door open with a glare. "You know, it wouldn't be too difficult to label the only door in Vatican City that opens outwards rather than inwards." He was forced to jump out of the way as it easily flew toward them. Gabriel walked in, and moved to the right corner of the room. He reached up, transferring the flame to the wicks of several candles located in a sparse candelabra. Carl followed, and looked around curiously.

Van Helsing's quarters were in many ways like the rooms each friar was assigned. There was a bed with blankets and a pillow, a chair, and a chest for clothing and personal items. Yet, the room itself was very different. It looked to have once been an inner storage room, or perhaps a last sanctuary for the pope in a time of need. There were many cabinets and shelves built into the walls, and in a corner was a pump with a bucket beneath.

"You get running water this deep within the building?" asked Carl, moving to pump some. It was icy and clear.

"Yes," said Gabriel, kneeling and plunging his hands into the bucket. He picked up a small scrap of soap lying on the floor behind the pump and started scrubbing at his hands. The blood had dried, sticky and brown, and he rubbed harshly at his skin to get it off. It also was on his pants, shirt, and the sleeves of his leather coat. He had not had a chance to change his clothing since arriving, having been given an assignment immediately after parting with Carl.

When most of the blood was off his hands, he pulled off his jacket and carefully washed the sleeves. "Make yourself at home," he invited Carl, concentrating on cleaning himself up.

The cloth around the wrists of his black shirt was also bloodstained, as was the skin of his forearms and his pants. Silently Van Helsing stripped off his shirt, listening to the sounds of Carl taking him up on his invitation, opening and closing the various cupboards built into the walls. Some were empty, but most contained various weapons, both broken and in good repair.

Van Helsing pulled off his boots, and moved to the chest at the foot of his bed. He opened the lid, ignoring Carl, who was muttering over one of his failed contraptions - it was a small cooking set that was supposed to contain all eating utensils within the pot. The only problem was that it was so intricate to pack that Gabriel had been unable to put the damn thing back together after using it.

Reaching in the chest, he pulled out a clean pair of black pants and a black linen shirt. Both articles of clothing, while slightly loose, were of a close, less flowing cut that allowed for more economical movement, and had less of a tendency to get caught and ripped.

While Carl's back was turned, Van Helsing stripped naked and, noting that the blood had not soaked through the cloth of his pants, pulled on the clean trousers. He then moved to the bucket, lifted it, and poured the dirty water down a drain located directly underneath the pump. After pumping more water, he washed his forearms and face. Toweling himself dry with a soft cloth, he pulled the linen shirt over his head.

As he sat on the bed pulling on his boots, he heard Carl's exclamation of interest and glanced over toward him. "What's - wait! Van Helsing, I recognize this!"

Gabriel turned away quickly, and Carl's ire grew. "No wonder I couldn't find it! I never got the chance to finish it before it disappeared. I searched for _days_. I knew I hadn't misplaced it!"

The object in question was a small dagger made of steel, with small curved prongs extending from the sharpened edges of the blade from hilt to tip.

"It's not done?" asked Van Helsing, walking around the room and discreetly concealing weapons and tools about his person. Knives in his boots, darts and a blowgun at his hips, and several other handy gadgets found their ways into various pockets. Although he would be spending the majority of his time in the Vatican City complex and it unnerved the clergy and worshippers to see him so armed, he refused to be weaponless, especially since the murderer had proven his ability to sneak inside and wreak havoc not an hour past. Leaving his coat behind for now, simply so the garment could dry, he moved to the door.

"No. I never got the chance to test it."

"I did. Works well. Very effective. Tough to remove, though."

Carl rolled his eyes. "Well of course it wasn't perfect, was it? After all, most of the time I have the chance to test and modify the weapons I give you."

Van Helsing shrugged. "Let's go."

"Go? But I thought you - oh. You're done. Well then. Let's go!"

Van Helsing gestured to the door, and Carl took a candle from the candelabra, blowing the rest out. This time, Carl led the way out of the passages. When they reached the main hallway, Van Helsing turned right, and Carl's voice pulled him up short.

"Gabriel, this way."

Van Helsing turned, somewhat surprised. "But the archives are -"

"Closer if you take the shortcut through the friars' sleeping quarters. Less twisting and turning." The friar grinned.

"Less turns. Good. Lead on, Carl."

-------------

Reviewer responses:

------------

First, many thanks to everyone who has so far shown an interest in this fic. It's starting to develop beyond what I thought it would, and that's mostly because the enthusiasm of my reviewers has kept me from dropping it. Every review I receive reminds me that I like this story, and after getting a bunch of reviews, I usually laugh with glee, and then go write another chapter. (moral = review!)

Carveus666: Thank you, I will attempt to do just that!

ThePet: Wow, you are one of my most consistent reviewers! Yipee!! (And I'm thrilled that you put me on your favs list!!) Charachtarization is actually a bit tough for me with this fic - I'm struggling to keep VH from blending into a Carl-like character, simply because while he's prominently a warrior in the movie, he's also intelligent, and keeps pushing to discover the why and how, even if he's not as scholarly as Carl. Your reviews let me know I'm succeeding. Gratias!

Christie: Thanks a million! No, I don't think I'm going to bring Anna back. I actually liked the movie ending. Besides that, however, I'm tossing around an idea that might become actualized later, and for this idea to work, Anna kind of has to be dead. But if you want, I'll try to bring her up more, or have more of her character revealed somehow. As a matter of fact, I think I have an idea on how to do that . . . what do you say??

Breaking Benjamin: grins I always get hyper-happy when people say they love something I've done. About Dracula - I really hadn't thought about it. I kindof operate under the "dead stays dead" policy (except in the case of Sirius Black in HP, but that's a totally different situation, where I can pretend it never happened and actually get away with it without destroying the storyline). He will most definitely not be totally gone from the story, but I think he's gonna hafta rest in pieces. Sorry.

Trinity Infinity / Rhea: Wow. (blushes). Just, wow. Thank you so much! I worked on the first chap on and off for a long while, and I was wondering if I should bother posting because I honestly didn't think I had a plot or anywhere for it to go. Your review blew me off my feet, and I was giggling and blushing for about ten minutes after; it's also one of the main reasons I decided to continue with this. Muchas gracias!!

TKAt: I was wondering if I was the only one out here who liked the ending of the movie, and thought Anna should be dead. For me, the movie was poignantly bittersweet: finally there is a heroine who is not a wimp, and is perfectly able to take care of herself. She's determined and hard-core without being over-the-top, and is in addition very competent. Catch: she expects to die. And then she does. So, it was most definitely bittersweet, but it was very good at the same time. Thanks for supporting the movie canon.

RedCelt: Gracias! And yes, to both A & B!

Sara: The fact that I couldn't find a fic about this subject when I went searching is the main reason I decided to write this one, mostly because the implications are wonderful to think about and create!

Gwachaedir: Yes, most intriguing, indeed. grins. Glad to know that you'll be checking it out!

Becky Greanleaf: Thanks very much, I'll try!

Kari: I'm going by what I remember from the movie, since I haven't yet gotten my hands on one of the movie tie-in novels. I'm actually afraid to get one, because in my experience they never do justice to what I personally read into the personalities of the characters (which has a lot to do with the skill of the actors). I was aware that it was ok for Anna to die after Dracula kicked it, because her family's mission was accomplished. I guess I'm not getting Jinette's hard-ass personality across well enough. . . that's what I was going for. Hmm. Will work on it. Thanks so much for your review, and for adding movie-fact tidbits; they're invaluable to me!

HorseRider: Thanks very much! Yes, I'm using the timeline I remember from the movie, in which Jinette states that "Four years ago, we found you crawling up the steps of this church half-dead" or something along those lines. Movie tie-in novels scare me. So I know that it's wrong, to a point. But to the same point, it's also right. grins sheepishly.

Cryptkeeper: No, I'm pretty certain that she'll only make cameos in this fic.


	4. Chapter 4

When they reached the archives, they found the third room empty of people and filled with scrolls, old tomes, and thousands of pieces of paper.

"Now that we're away from prying ears, care to tell me exactly what's going on?" asked Carl. Normally he would be briefed before Van Helsing's return from his last mission, but things were a little different this time.

The hunter pulled out a chair and sat, his back to the wall. "For the past few weeks, members of the Order have been found dead across Europe." Carl froze at the words. "Each man was found stripped, flogged, and nailed to the floor of his church in front of the altar, stretched out as if he were crucified. In addition, every man was stabbed below the rib cage on the right side."

"That's where the man in the church stabbed Michael," murmured Carl, face intent.

"Exactly."

"How many dead so far?"

Van Helsing heaved a sigh. "Twenty five." Carl gasped. "Six in England, three in Spain, nine in France, and seven, so far, in Italy. The killer has been moving southerly." Van Helsing frowned.

"What else?" asked Carl.

"Apparently one man - the man I saw today - is responsible for all these deaths. Jinette said that they receive word of a new death roughly every four days. There is also a picture of him - I'll get it for you. Apparently there was no obvious link between any of the victims either. They are all ages, with different specialties, and no physical connections, according to Jinette."

Carl frowned. "You said the man is moving toward Vatican City?"

"Apparently."

"Well, that doesn't make much sense."

"How so?" asked Gabriel, trying to see where Carl's deductive mind had taken him.

"Well, the Order is very widespread. This man is killing members of the Order, yet he is not killing _all_ of them. He only killed three in Spain, while I know for a fact that there are most definitely over thirty members of the Order in Pais Vasco alone."

"Well, then his objective is not primarily to kill members of the Order."

"Is there any connection among the . . . deceased?" Carl hesitated on the last word, his unease showing.

"If there is we're going to have to look very hard to find it. We need more information about the victims," said Van Helsing. He stood. "I'm going to get a list of the dead from the Cardinal. Start with these archives - see if you can find anything. Look for a Father Williams, who was recently assigned to a chapel on the outskirts of Rome."

"Right."

Leaving Carl busily poring over a large tome, Van Helsing quickly sought out Cardinal Jinette. After obtaining the names of all Order members that had been killed, he attempted to use Carl's shortcut back to the archives.

Frowning, Van Helsing slipped out from behind a tapestry that he knew he'd never seen before. Gazing around, he found himself lost, again. Choosing a direction at random, he began to walk. At this point, he reasoned, it didn't really matter. Sooner or later, he would find himself in a familiar section of the complex.

Feeling his considerable patience waning, Gabriel opened the next door he came across, and found himself inside the chapel where he had first spotted the murderer. A frown creased his brow.

Something intangible was teasing at the back of his mind.

Walking toward the altar, Gabriel stopped, his hand coming to rest on the pew to his right.

He could feel the rough grain of the wood against his palm.

_He could feel the evil that swirled around the creature dressed in white._

Gabriel blinked, pulling his hand from the wood. He looked warily at the pew. It was no different from any other. The color, texture, cut of the wood was ordinary, mundane. And yet, this particular area of the chapel felt . . . _tainted_. Strange as the sensation was, the knowledge that it was a familiar sensation was even more perturbing.

He frowned. Hesitating, Gabriel reached out a hand and placed it once more against the pew. _Wrongness_ flooded through him, awakening things in the back of his mind. Van Helsing clamped his fingers determinedly around the wood.

_The creature snarled, blood dripping from its fingers. Red lines were scored across the thing's body. For all it looked like a man, it couldn't have been more different._

The creature lunged, and Gabriel dodged. In a beautifully precise move, he turned and thrust the flaming object in his hand through the creature's heart.

It laughed. "You cannot defeat me! You have forgotten who you are! You have no power over me!"

Knowing the lies for what they were, Gabriel reached out, reached beyond_, to bring the full extent of his power, his _being_, against this creature._

Pain. Something was wrong. So much pain! What was happening? This was not right!

Gabriel barely had time to realize the attack before consciousness was ripped from him.

Gabriel pulled his hand from the pew, and stared at it. In his senses, this bench was dripping with evil, corrupting the entire atmosphere of the church.

Shaking his head, he turned from the pew and swiftly left the church. Nothing short of an exorcism stood a remote chance of cleansing the chapel now. He needed to talk to Carl.

Pushing his memories away for now, Van Helsing quickly made his way through the friars' chambers. On his arrival in the archives, he found Carl muttering to himself in front of a large map.

"What's this?"

Carl turned to fix surprised eyes on his friend. "I've just been trying to see if there's a pattern of any sort. I've marked the location of each death, yet there's no correlation that I can see."

Van Helsing also gazed at the map. "He's meandering all over Europe," the hunter murmured.

"Indeed. There's no straight-line path, pattern, or symbol marked out by his route."

"It's strange. Almost as if he's . . . looking for something."

"What?" Carl was caught off-guard by the absent remark. "What do you mean?"

"Well, look at it. He's killing precisely, yet seemingly at random within countries. Yet once he's done with a specific nation, he leaves and doesn't return. His general direction is also pointedly southward. It's systematic, in a way. He's searching, and eliminating."

But there was more to it than that; Carl could see it in the hunter's eyes. There was a buried awareness, of something . . . out of reach. "That's not all, is it?" the friar demanded.

Gabriel said nothing, staring blindly at the map.

"Van Helsing!"

The man in question jerked, blinked, and took a deep breath. "I - can't be sure."

Carl was anxious. His confident, almost cocksure friend was displaying signs of uneasiness, and more worryingly, insecurity.

"I just - I have this feeling that he's looking for something."

"Something he thinks the Order has knowledge of? Or possession of?" Carl mused, trying to connect the factors.

"I don't know."

"Well it would make sense. Maybe if I research more the sites of the murders rather than the victims . . .."

Van Helsing nodded. "From what Jinette has already told me, any connecting factors between the dead would be random, and difficult to locate."

It was an unspoken agreement between them that, knowing the thoroughness of Jinette's scribes, their effort would be better spent researching in a different direction.

"Ah." Van Helsing said, hours later. The two had spent their time poring over the scrolls and tomes, yet they had found nothing of much use. Carl was comprising a list of the locations, and what he deemed were relevant points about each town and chapel.

"What is it? Did you find something?" Carl's voice rose with excitement. Given the monotony of the past few hours, the discovery of any kind of connection would be exhilarating.

"No," Van Helsing responded. "I remembered that I was meaning to ask Father Anthony if he would perform an exorcism in the chapel."

"What?" Carl was annoyed.

"The entire part of the building - reeks. With evil." The hunter shrugged, unable to find a better explanation.

"Father Anthony is ill," Carl replied.

"Is there anyone else who-"

"A few. It depends on how badly the contamination has spread." Carl stood, and stretched.

"Where are you going?" asked Van Helsing, glancing up from the paper-strewn table.

"Well, you said you needed to find an exorcist, and I'm too tired to think any longer."

"Why do I have trouble believing that?" Gabriel interjected wryly.

"I'm going to go see for myself," Carl responded, ignoring the playful jibe.

"Carl? I'm not so sure that's a good idea. Carl!" Gabriel pushed himself to his feet, swearing lightly under his breath as he followed the friar down the passageways toward the chapel.

"Carl, I really don't think it's a good idea to let anyone into the chapel until there's been a chance to cleanse it."

"You went back in it."

"I've already been exposed to the evil there. I'm used to it. But it's getting worse." Their quick pace down the corridor didn't slow.

"Getting worse? How?"

"It's stronger each time I go in there. Like a festering wound."

"In that case, someone must evaluate it quickly and see who would be the best person to handle the rite."

"Not to tramp on your self-esteem Carl, but isn't this a little . . . out of your league?"

"You'd be surprised at what they teach us," the friar replied with a sniff. "But I'm not going to be the one evaluating. The Cardinal will."

"What?"

"You heard me," Carl continued resolutely. Van Helsing followed in his wake, slightly surprised.

By this time they had reached Jinette's chambers. Few were in the passageways, for it was now late in the evening. Carl knocked, and opened the door the instant the voice inside said, "Come."

"Carl," said the Cardinal. "And Van Helsing. What do you want?"

Carl entered the room, which was slightly larger than most, but almost as sparse as his own quarters. Van Helsing stayed by the door, tense and unhappy, though it didn't show in his face.

"We'd like you to come to the chapel, Cardinal." Carl's request was soft-spoken and reasonable.

"For what reason?"

"It needs to be exorcised. " Van Hesling's tone was harder, unyielding. Jinette frowned at him.

"How do you know this?"

"It's my job," said Van Helsing. The two men stared at each other for a short time, locked in a battle of wills. Jinette's expression relaxed ever so slightly, and he responded, "Very well."

The friar and hunter waited while the Cardinal stood and preceded them out of the room. The walk to the chapel was silent, the journey through the darkened halls almost eerie.

When they finally reached the doors, the Cardinal pushed one open slightly, and walked in. Carl followed without hesitation, and Van Helsing, giving the room a wary glance, followed them down the main aisle toward the altar.

Halfway there, Van Helsing froze. He looked to his right, and saw the pew in which the creature had sat that morning.

Jinette and Carl continued to the front of the chapel, unknowing that Van Helsing was far behind him.

"I sense nothing," said Jinette, turning around sharply. He paused, and looked over Carl's shoulder. Confusion shone in his eyes at not finding Van Helsing behind him. Carl, too, turned.

The hunter was standing stock-still in the center aisle of the church, paying no heed to the holy men at the altar. He was staring, facing the right side of the church, pale features fixed on the pew in front of him.

"Van Helsing?" Carl asked.

The hunter made no response.

Shooting a concerned look at the Cardinal, Carl walked toward the hunter, aware of Jinette's footsteps right behind him.

"Van Helsing?"

The hunter blinked, looking at them. His face was pale, a sheen of sweat glistening over his skin. "Can't you feel it?" he whispered hoarsely, disgust rippling across his features.

Carl shook his head, taking a step forward. "Gabriel?" he asked, placing a hand on the other's arm.

Carl froze, and his face went dead white. He swayed, an ill expression crossing his face. "What -" he gasped, swallowing hard against the bile rising in his throat. "What is that?"

"Evil," said Van Helsing.

Jinette looked at the two with some concern. "Carl?" he asked, placing his own hand over the friar's, where it rested on Gabriel's sleeve. The cardinal stiffened with shock, and pulled his hand away.

"Carl, you must let go of Van Helsing. Now!" the older man ordered, voice lashing through the air. Carl started, and lost contact with the hunter. Almost immediately, color returned to his face. He staggered a few steps backward, and slumped in to a pew on the opposite side of the chapel.

"What was that? What happened?" he asked, voice quavering.

"I am far more concerned with why only you can sense this great evil," Jinette responded, staring hard at the hunter. "Why only contact with you allows us to feel it."

"Regardless," said Gabriel, voice still hoarse, "this room needs to be exorcised."

Jinette shook his head. "How can we cleanse what we cannot sense? This is beyond the skill of any of the Order to fix. Until Father Anthony is well, we must close this chapel off."

"It will only grow in that time," Van Helsing insisted. "Is there any way to contain it, until the Father is well?"

Jinette shook his head. "Unless the evil emanated from a source, there is no -"

"There is a source." Van Helsing took a step forward. "He was sitting on this pew, and the wood is saturated."

"Where did he sit?" asked Carl, keen eyes searching for a clue.

"Here." Gabriel pointed, and then his hand dropped. He took another step forward, and Carl said, "Is that such a good idea?"

He hadn't finished asking his question before the hunter had placed a hand on the back of the pew.

_The creature snarled as Gabriel approached. It looked up from the man writhing, naked, in his own blood._

Gabriel could see the man's agony as he came closer. The creature slowly backed away, eyes never leaving him. Yet the hunter's own gaze was fixed on the sufferer, ignoring the creature.

He knelt by the man's side, unaware that he knelt in a pool of blood. One hand reached out to gently stroke the tousled curls. The man groaned, and his eyes cracked open. Misery was painted across his face. "Please," the man whispered, eyes soft and begging. "Please."

Knowing what the man was pleading for, Gabriel nodded slowly. The man relaxed slowly, a brave smile trembling on the corners of his mouth. "It will be quick," Gabriel whispered. "Sleep."

A weapon appeared in his hand, and he plunged it into the man's heart. The body heaved once and relaxed beyond belief. The head lolled, eyes shut, and a small smile on his lips.

Gabriel turned and stood, glaring at the creature.

"The Destiny will be mine," it snarled. Gabriel advanced forward, encroaching upon the creature's space. It backed away, fear and defiance shining in its eyes. "You may be the Left Hand, but I am sent by a higher power. The Destiny will be mine!"

"There is no higher power," Gabriel snapped.

With a roar, the creature attacked -

Someone pried his hand from the pew. Gabriel blinked, and Carl's ashen, shaking form snapped into focus. Coming back to himself, Van Helsing quickly pulled away, knowing how adversely touching him affected those around him - for only through him could they sense the evil that was now almost overpowering.

"We must get out of here," Gabriel managed, forcing himself to keep from stumbling out the door. Jinette closed the heavy oaken doors, and stood staring at Van Helsing.

"What happened in there?" he demanded.

The hunter, his composure returned, glanced at the Cardinal. "I remembered - something."

"What?" Carl's voice was laden with curiosity.

Van Helsing frowned. "I'm not sure. I've met the creature before, that much is certain."

"Creature?" Jinette looked at him carefully.

"Yes." Gabriel's response was firm. "He may look like a man, dressed in white, but he is not human. He's something else."

"Vampire?" asked Carl, voice trembling. The two of them had had enough encounters with _nosferatu_, the undead, recently.

"No," Van Helsing replied with a terrible realization. Horror stained his tone. "Something much worse."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Sorry about the excessive delay. I hit a snag, and had to rework the whole plot. Add to that what they DON"T tell you about wireless internet. In addition, I was attacked by a relentless plot bunny that forced me into Stargate SG-1 fanfiction for a time. So, the fruits of that labor, while almost finished, are posted. Sorry!


	5. Chapter 5

"What can be worse than a vampire?" Carl demanded for the fourth time in as many hours. He'd been muttering the question to himself for so long that his voice no longer squeaked on the last word.

"I tell you Carl, I don't know!" cried Van Helsing, his patience run ragged.

After separating late the night before, the three men had returned to their quarters, ostensibly to get some sleep. Judging from Carl's jittery state and his preoccupation in finding a creature that surpassed the wickedness of the _nosferatu_, Van Helsing thought the friar had gotten about the same amount of rest he himself received.

Retreating to his fortified, hidden quarters, Gabriel had locked himself away to try to sleep. His nightmares had returned, with a vengeance that made up for his short respite. His mind was filled with images of violence and anguish, robbing him of any type of rest. He had been locked in sleep, locked into the terrible dreams, until he had finally, six hours ago, been able to rip himself from unconsciousness.

Running his hands tiredly down his face, the hunter took a deep breath and sighed, grasping the last of his composure with a grim will.

Carl, surprised by the outburst, had irritably thrown himself into a chair and was staring off into space. He gazed out the window, and Van Helsing himself had to admit that the stark difference of the weather in Rome was startling after a month in and around Transylvania. There, the constant clouds and storms were eerily reflective of the mood of oppression, fear and despair.

Yet somehow, the sunshine was more awful in that respect. Carl had commented, not half an hour ago, that he felt the weather should reflect the horror of their situation. The juxtaposition of sunlight and warmth against the stout spiritual chill that pervaded Vatican City was not lost on Gabriel, either.

But they had more important things to do than muse over the state of the sky. Van Helsing pulled his coat off the back of the chair as he stood. "Where are you going?" asked Carl.

"The creature is here in the City," Van Helsing said, gazing toward the window. His voice was soft. "I want to see if I can find anything out while you research."

"Alone?" asked the friar with a gulp.

"Carl, you're in the depths of the Vatican, practically the heart of the Order-"

"And it wasn't enough to protect Michael."

Van Helsing sighed once more. He keenly felt his part in the boy's injury. Father Taddeo had managed to keep Michael alive thus far, but his healing would be a long and delicate process. The stab wound had penetrated several of the boy's vital organs, and infection now raged through his body.

He shook his head. "You'll be safer here than anywhere else, notwithstanding," he responded. Van Helsing had made it clear earlier that morning that he hated the idea of his friend being a target of the creature. Yet he had also made it clear that the closer Carl was to him, the greater the danger would be.

"That's comforting." The friar was snidely concerned.

Gabriel stood and made for the door. "Van Helsing? You're not really going to chase this thing down, meet him on his ground, are you?" Carl's worry, and a shade of memory of the last time they had done so, colored his tone.

"Not unless I have no other choice," Gabriel replied, trying to comfort without lying. He left, making his way through the twisting turns of the Vatican's depths.

When he finally entered the sunshine, he felt displaced in his dark clothing. The inhabitants of Rome were cheerfully flamboyant, their city mirroring their joyous attitude. He felt, before he shook the thought away, something like a smudge of soot on a colorful painting.

Van Helsing walked quickly through the back alleys of the city, his hat pulled low over his face. He made no noise as he tread the cobblestones underfoot, tracing his way to the very outskirts of the city, toward the small parish in which Father Williams had been murdered.

The road he was taking deteriorated into a slightly overgrown dirt path not far from where the last stone buildings clustered, leaning towards the center of Rome. Following the road, Van Helsing sighted the small church in the distance. What was so special about this place, about the one member of the Order in place here, that attracted the creature's attention? It certainly wasn't wealth. The small building had been lovingly constructed, but showed many signs of wear. Ivy scrambled up one side, and there were many flowers growing out of cracks in the stone walls, lending a beautiful, somewhat ethereal quality to the pale building.

Taking in the appearance of the church, and the serenity that gently cloaked it, Gabriel could not help but think that this should be a place with its doors perpetually open. In contrast to that musing, the dark doors were shut, ostensibly barred from the inside.

Climbing the few steps, Van Helsing pushed at the door. It was indeed locked. Moving around to a side entrance, he had little luck. He pushed more forcefully at the door, and heard movement behind him. Turning, he encountered a middle-aged deacon staring at him thoughtfully. "May I help you?" he asked.

Van Helsing removed his hat. "Yes," he said simply. "I'm sent from the Vatican. I'm here to inquire into the death of Father Williams."

"The murder, more like," the deacon returned sadly. "Allow me." He moved past Van Helsing and inserted a key into the lock, pushing the door open gently. "I suppose you'll need to see where it happened. We've already cleaned."

"Thank you," Gabriel returned, his voice equally soft. He followed the deacon through a small vestibule, and into the main area of the church.

"Here," the man said, pointing to the stone floor in front of the altar. The floor had been scrubbed clean, but the air was thick with a familiar taint.

"When was he found?" Van Helsing asked, crouching to run his fingers lightly over the cream-colored stone.

"Dawn, when the boy came in to ring the bells," the deacon replied. "Poor Mark - he's quite beside himself."

Gabriel nodded, walking around the area carefully. He noted deep holes in the stone, roughly six feet apart. "Is this where -"

"Yes," said the deacon abruptly, seemingly unwilling to hear the atrocity spelled out in detail.

Van Helsing continued to inspect the area. "Are you still in possession of the nails?"

"Spikes," the deacon corrected. "They were spikes. Yes. I have them. Do you need them for the investigation?"

Van Helsing nodded, and the deacon left him alone in the church. Prowling the perimeter of the church, searching for something, anything, Gabriel's eye was caught by a plain glass case sitting to the right of the tabernacle, behind the altar. He moved closer to it, puzzling over its purpose.

It was a plain, oak case with a single glass panel in the front. It was no more than two feet long, with a width and height of about half a foot. It sat on a simple stone ledge, concealed from the worshippers by the altar.

Turning towards the deacon's approach, Van Helsing saw the man note his position and smile tiredly. "So you've discovered our church's one claim to popularity," he said.

"I beg your pardon?" asked Van Helsing as the man approached. The deacon dropped three long, heavy spikes into his outstretched hand and stood next to him, staring at the case.

"Many years ago, the head of the Spear rested here, in this very case," the deacon said. "Before my time, of course. But it was here, if legend can be trusted."

"The Spear?" asked Van Helsing, unsure of the reference.

"The Spear of Longinus," the deacon replied softly. "The Holy Lance."

" 'Not one bone of His will be broken'," Gabriel replied, softly quoting scripture.

The deacon smiled at him, and nodded. "So it is written," he said. The two men stood in an amiable silence for a moment or two more, before Van Helsing took his leave of the church.

Walking back to the Vatican, he turned the spikes over and over in his hands. They were filled with the same sense of evil that had permeated the church, and he abhorred touching them. He dropped them into his pocket as he entered the archives nearly an hour later, arriving in Vatican City just as the sun left.

"Well, did you discover anything useful?" asked Carl, glancing up from the scrolls.

"No. Not really." Gabriel sat down heavily, lost in thought. Several moments passed in silence.

"What is it? What did you find out?" asked Carl, interest piqued.

"It's nothing," said Van Helsing. "Just something the deacon and I spoke of in passing. It caught my attention, simply because I feel I'm missing an obvious connection somewhere."

Putting his candle aside, Carl firmly rolled up his scroll. "Well, are you going to tell me or not?"

Gabriel grinned. "I went to the church where Father Williams was murdered. While I was there, I happened to comment on an empty glass case near the tabernacle. Apparently, legend has it that at one time, this church was home to the Spear of Longinus."

Carl sat up straight. "The Spear of St. Longinus? The Roman soldier?"

"Yes," said Gabriel, somewhat puzzled by Carl's excited reaction. "Carl, what is it?"

"Here it is! I knew I'd read it somewhere. The Church of St. George, in England. Parish of Father De Luc, the fourth member of the order killed in the north. At one time supposed to be home to the Spear of Longinus, used to -"

"Coincidence?" demanded Van Helsing, standing up and moving to survey the writing for himself.

"Maybe," Carl cautioned. "But it's something to start with."

Barely an hour of frenzied searches and exclamations later, the two had come up with a definite pattern. "That's it, then!" Carl was exuberant. "Every church visited is rumored to at one time have been home to the Spear of Longinus! That's our connection!"

"Yes," murmured Gabriel thoughtfully. "But what does he want with it? Carl, what do we actually _know_ about the Spear?"

"Well," responded the friar, abandoning the laden table in favor of poking through crammed shelves, "Not much." His voice was muffled, travelling through pounds of paper. "Ah. Here it is. Longinus, a centurion, was present at the crucifixion. He pierced the side of Christ to prove that the Lord was dead, and from the wound flowed blood and water. Longinus saw the darkness that descended after Christ's death, and was also healed of his poor sight by the blood that flowed down the shaft of the Spear. He converted to Christianity, and gave up his militant life, and died a martyr's death."

"That's a chronicle of the life of St. Longinus. It tells us nothing about the Holy Lance itself," Gabriel interjected.

"Wait - there's more," Carl said, eagerly scanning the contents of the scroll.

Gabriel moved to pick up a copy of the Bible, and flipped through it quickly. "Ah."

"What is it? What did you find?" asked Carl.

"Here - the Scripture. '_It was the Day of Preparation, and to avoid the bodies' remaining on the cross during the Sabbath -- since that Sabbath was a day of special solemnity -- the Jews asked Pilate to have the legs broken and the bodies taken away. Consequently the soldiers came and broke the legs of the first man who had been crucified with him and then of the other. When they came to Jesus, they saw he was already dead, and so instead of breaking his legs, one of the soldiers, the centurion named Longinus, pierced his side with a lance; and immediately there came out blood and water.'_ "

"Hmm. We need factual evidence of the Spear. Let me think . . . . When I was a lad, there was a reclusive monk that was rarely seen by the members of the parish. What _was_ his name? He was researching the Holy Relics - the Grail, the True Cross, other such things of that ilk. He's the one who I believe had me recommended to the Order when I was twelve."

"You were twelve?" asked Van Helsing, incredulous. He knew that Carl was a genius, but somehow he had never thought that he had entered the Order so young. The friar nodded, blushing a little. Van Helsing raised a brow, smiling a little at his friend's bashfulness.

"Anyway, what was his name? Father - Father Gerard! That's it!"

"What good does that do us?" Gabriel asked.

"Because," said the friar, standing and walking towards the door. Van Helsing followed. "I can cross reference his name and the church he was staying at to find his full title and position in the Order. Then, using the indexing system - Good Lord, what has Brother Yakov been doing? Dammit, I can't find a thing in this mess. . . . eventually, I'll be able to find exactly where all of his notes and records were placed."

Throughout this tirade, Van Helsing followed Carl as he poked through the filing system, found what he was searching for, and sped in search of the documents. Jogging after the retreating friar, Gabriel pulled up short and jumped back as Carl abruptly changed directions and scurried down a different aisle, looking up and down as he sidles between stacks of paper.

"Ah!" he cried. "Here we are. It should be -" Carl's enthusiasm dimmed considerably as he looked up to the shelf in question. It was at least five feet above his head, and there was no ladder in sight. "Van Helsing," he called.

Gabriel, having been warily watching in the even another sudden about-face sent him sprawling, peered cautiously between the shelves. "Yes?"

"Come here."

"What for?"

"I need a boost. I'm afraid the shelves will break if I try to climb them."

Rolling his eyes, Gabriel moved carefully toward the friar, skillfully dodging the many errant scrolls poking dangerously from their perches.

He reached the friar and carefully boosted Carl toward the shelves. "No, no, that's not it, no - sorry!" A heavy tome thunked to the floor, just missing Gabriel's head on its way down. "Could you move a little to the right? No, your _other _right."

"Carl, you may not have Brother Lennox's girth, but I am getting a little tired. Do you think you could possibly -"

"Ah! I've got it!"

"Good," Gabriel sighed, quickly letting go. Carl squeaked, but the hunter grabbed him before he tumbled to the floor.

The notes in his hands, however, suffered for the friar's lack of balance and scattered across the stones. Murmuring an apology, yet unable to keep a mischievous grin from his face, Gabriel helped Carl gather the papers together again.

A series of words underlined on one page caught his attention, and as he read them, his hand froze. "Sweet Jesus," he gasped. "_This is it!"_

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Yes, to all my knowledge, the italicized text is straight from the Bible. Real research was done in this subject, and I credit the info to this website - I have played with the facts, but only in the realm of dates. J This disclaimer/credit also holds for the following chapter.


	6. Chapter 6

"He's traced its whereabouts since it was used at the Crucifixion," said Carl excitedly. They were back in the third archive room, in the space they had filled with the results of their search. Papers were strewn across tables, spilling onto the floor with no semblance of order. The mess, however, was the last thing on either of their minds.

"The Spear of Destiny," Gabriel murmured softly, gazing at the spidery writing on the parchment in his hand.

"So we're absolutely sure that this is what he's after?"

Gabriel hesitated, unable to look Carl in the eye. He glanced toward a painting depicting in vivid color the crucifixion. At the side of Christ, an apostle held the grail and caught the blood from the wound the Jesus' side. In the background, barely noticeable, was the vague figure of a man, holding a staff. Or a spear.

Van Helsing took a deep breath. "When I - in the chapel, when I touched the back of the pew where the creature sat, I remembered something. I have the sense that it wasn't too long ago, yet it feels a lifetime away. The creature was speaking to me - and there was one phrase that stuck in my mind. He said, '_The Destiny will be mine_.' He was talking about the Holy Lance - the Spear of Destiny."

There was a moment of silence as Carl absorbed that information. "Well, that's only one of its many names," Carl mused, laying out the notes of Father Gerard. "Now, first let me see - ah. According to this," he read, " _'the Spear of Destiny has existed on Earth since the beginning of recorded time.'_ How conveniently vague." Gabriel snorted. "The story holds that the Ancient Hebrew Prophet Phineas forged it. The spearhead is described here as _'held together by gold, silver and bronze thread containing a nail from the crucifix'_, and the base is _'embossed with gold crosses'_. Hmm. Ah. Here's the beginning of its travels. '_It was present when Saxon King Heinrich defeated the Magyars. Pope John XII used it to christen Heinrich's son Otto the Great as Holy Roman Emperor; Otto carried it into victory over the Mongolian Hordes in the Battle of Leck. Constantine claimed that he was guided by divine providence via the Spear in his victory at Milvian Bridge, which established Christianity as the Official Religion of the Holy Roman Empire.'_ Then . . . this is extraneous . . . this is irrelevant . . . Here! '_The spear fell into the hands of Justinian'_ and it was tainted with a_ 'dark evil quality_'." Carl looked somberly at Van Helsing.

"I think we now know what has attracted this creature to the Holy Lance." Gabriel's voice was low. A corrupted relic stained with the blood of Christ - the power in the spearhead would be unimaginable. In the hands of such a being as the creature in white, it could wreak untold destruction upon the face of the Earth. He sighed, blinking wearily.

"But I don't think even the Pope knows where the head of the Holy Lance is," the friar said doubtfully. "By now the shaft must have decomposed, but the spear-tip itself . . . it's been lost for centuries." Carl, setting the papers aside, yawned.

Catching the movement, taking in the tousled hair and tired eyes, Gabriel pushed his chair from the table decisively. "There's not much we can do tonight. Get some rest. I'll meet you back here at dawn?"

Standing, Carl nodded, and Van Helsing made sure the friar left the archives and returned to his room before the hunter exited Vatican City. He worked best at night, when the cities were free of the innocent and only predators walked the streets. Silent, he wandered the alleys and byways of Rome, letting his feet determine the route. In the darkness of the night, the only light from a thin sliver of the new moon, Van Helsing blended with the shadows in a way he knew the creature would not. Through hubris, perhaps, the thing in the form of a man would retain its symbolic white. Gabriel barely registered this vague certainty about the creature's actions within his mind. He was waiting to come across some trace of the creature - its evil was too strong for it to be able to conceal itself for long.

The streets were dark; the streetlights in this area dim and distant. As he passed a closed bakery, his senses pricked up and he whirled, sharp eyes searching for . . . _something. _

But there was nothing.

No – that was not quite right. There was something.

Barely within the range of his senses, he felt the taint besmirching the air, polluting this part of the city. Frowning, Van Helsing took two careful steps and stopped, all senses screaming.

He felt the creature's presence before he heard it, and dropped flat. It was very fast, and nearly took his head off despite the speed with which he threw himself to the filthy cobblestones.

The creature gleamed in the darkness, the moonlight giving the white clothing and skin an eerie, ghostly glow. The creature's shoulder-length blond hair glinted golden in the light. It smiled, teeth too white.

"Gabriel," it hissed softly. The voice was terrible in its discord, embodying the horrible cacophony of a thousand churchbells ringing at once.

Gabriel didn't respond, jumping quickly to his feet.

"Surely you remember me?" the creature asked. Its blue eyes were so pale that the orbs looked blind in the moonlight.

The hunter remained impassive.

The creature laughed, the awful sound resonating with the screams of the damned. "After our last encounter, I lost your trail. But you sought sanctuary, did you not? You sought the one place I could not enter." The creature's smile might have made his exquisite features beautiful, once. "I have entrance now," it snarled.

Gabriel stood, gauging the creature's movements and stance. Strangely enough, it didn't attack, but circled him carefully. Gabriel kept most of his attention firmly on the creature, the rest focused on his surroundings. "There is something different about you," the creature grunted. It sniffed the air, leaning forward, and one of his rotating blades slipped silently into Gabriel's left hand, ready for use.

The creature breathed in deeply of the night air, its eyes half-closing as it sorted the scents. It tilted its head back and laughed, the frightful sound ringing through the street. "Why, you've forgotten who you are!"

Gabriel still said nothing.

"Oh, the hunter you once were," the creature gloated. "Now – why, you are practically mortal!"

Van Helsing's eyes narrowed.

"You don't remember anything, do you?" The creature moved with an inhuman speed, and before he could react it had him pinned against the wall. It was grinning, the expression enough to make stout soldiers weep. Gabriel stiffened his resolve, resisting the detached fear beating against him. The creature was trying to make him afraid, but the emotion wasn't his, and so he ignored it.

Bringing his arm up and across, the curved blades now spinning, Gabriel slashed at the creature's abdomen. It shrieked a little in surprise, but did not move. Gabriel was slammed harder into the side of the stone building at his back. He grunted.

The creature moved back, slightly. But now its grin was calculating. "You cannot think to fight me," it said, "but still you try. You truly remember nothing." There was no disguising the malicious glee pervading the creature's tone.

Gabriel slammed into the ground, with no memory of ever leaving it. The creature had thrown him to the street, despite his efforts at resisting. He rolled, feeling pain shoot through his side. A few ribs were cracked – perhaps broken.

He stood tall nevertheless, and heard himself sneer, "The poet did say it best, did he not? _'The stars are bright, though the brightest fell_'? Tell him I will never yield!" Shocked at his own words, Van Helsing fell silent.

The creature, too, froze. Only for a moment, before drawing closer once again. "No," it breathed. Its expression changed, becoming deadly serious. "No, you are not forgotten – you are lost." And then Van Helsing was diving, rolling, slicing out with his blades as the other flew at him.

The battle was joined – the two figures locked and grappled, straining and tearing at one another in the moonlight. The streets were empty, and in their homes the people of Vatican City heard the awful screams and shrieks, and they shivered in their beds, praying. A bold few approached their windows, but only one watched the battle.

The white and the dark fought fiercely, the minutes stretching on as they exchanged blow for cut, kick for strike. Yet the figure in white had the upper hand from the beginning, and soon, with a devastating blow to the head, the man in black crumpled to the ground.

It looked, to the old blacksmith watching, as if the one in white would finish the other then, and a terrible foreboding came over him. For all its apparent beauty and purity, there was something wholly wrong, an evil that could not be denied, which hung about the man gleaming with pale light under the moon. A silver dagger was revealed, pulled from inside the man's white shirt, and the watcher gazed in horror, biting back a gasp. The man in white, a cruel smile wreathed upon his face, ripped the shirt of his unconscious opponent. But instead of killing him, the creature merely crouched and cut the skin just under his ribcage on the right side.

To the observer's shock, he lifted the blade to his face and inhaled deeply. Then, with a look of disgust, the . . . _thing_ in white contemptuously wiped his blade on the fallen man's clothing, turned on his heel, and made his way down the street, towards the outskirts of the town. Within moments he was swallowed whole by the shadows.

The bystander waited until he was sure the figure had gone, and then shook his wife awake, and instructed her to get the mare hooked up to the cart. Rushing back into the street, he knelt next to the unconscious man. The watcher, Tomas, knew nothing of healing, yet he could tell the man was gravely hurt. Blood trailed from the corner of his mouth, and also matted his hair from a deep gash above his ear. His breathing was irregular, air hitched and strained through blue-tinted lips. Bruises were already beginning to form on his arms, chest, and face, and his skin was cold to the touch. The cut which the – thing – had delivered at the last was the most minor of his wounds.

Tomas carefully lifted the man, grunting in surprise at the other's weight, as his wife led the mare to the front of the house. His face reflected concern as he felt bone shift under his fingers, and the man shuddered. They had been married long enough to read intent in the other's eyes, and she knew that the only way this man might be able to survive was if the healers saw him. And the best healers in the city were in the Vatican.

Marie refused to leave him to complete this task, and climbed into the back to watch over the mysterious fighter while Tomas guided the mare as quickly as possible to the heart of the city.

The journey to the Vatican seemed interminable to Marie, who could do nothing but pray that each ragged breath the man took would not be his last. Using an old apron torn to pieces, she placed clean cloths against the cuts, yet they were quickly saturated. Marie nearly sobbed in relief when they reached the gates to the Holy City, and Tomas pounded at the door to the gatekeeper's small cottage. Within moments several men had burst from the building in alarm, and on seeing the wounded man, a youth was sent for the healers.

To Tomas and his wife, the next hour was a blur of frenzied activity as a stern Father Taddeo took charge of the man in black, accompanied by two younger assistants, and whisked the wounded man away.

The first Carl knew of the incident was the noise of distraught voices echoing down the hallway. Carl peered out the door of his room, and was taken aback by the amount of frenzied people rushing through the hallways. "Carl," said Jinnette, who to his surprise was walking purposefully towards him. "Come, immediately."

"Of course," gasped the friar, pulling a robe over his head as he followed the red-robed Cardinal. "What has happened?"

"Van Helsing was brought to the gates of the Holy City badly wounded," Jinette replied. "I know no more than Father Taddeo has taken him into his charge. A blacksmith and his wife may know what happened, and they are waiting for us now."

Carl's heart nearly stopped in his chest with the first sentence, and he increased his pace so that he was practically treading on the Cardinal's heels in his worry.

When they reached the gates minutes later, it was to find a shocked blacksmith holding his disturbed wife. Jinette smoothly welcomed and thanked the couple, and for several minutes the grizzled blacksmith spoke, telling them of the battle he had seen. Carl was torn between stark terror, anger and concern by the time the older man's tale was complete.

Glancing to Jinette, he was disconcerted by the other's ashen pallor, though Jinette's voice and expression remained calm. Tomas and Marie were escorted home by several members of the Order; once they were out of the temple precinct, Jinette and Carl turned immediately to find Father Taddeo.

By the time they reached the healer's quarters, Carl was fidgeting with worry, and Jinette's expression was grim. Father Taddeo's rooms were open to all with injury, and had been converted into an infirmary for the sick long ago. Normally well-lighted and aired, now the illumination provided by the many glaring candles lit a scene many never thought to see again.

Carl had not been present when Van Helsing was found on the steps to the cathedral several years ago, nor had he known of the man until Gabriel had been shown into the underground laboratory by Jinette. But to Taddeo and Jinette, the tableau playing out now was eerily remniscent of their initial discovery of the hunter. Carl, however, was fully focused on his friend.

Gabriel was lying very still on a pallet which supported his spine and neck. His clothing had been removed, and he was clad only in his leggings. His skin was pale, his hair matted with blood, and the only sound in the near-silent room was his labored breathing. Taddeo was gently pressing on his ribs, a frown on his face as he felt bone shift beneath his fingers. With mounting worry he noted both the hunter's lack of response as well as the drops of blood flecking his blue-tinged lips.

The examination continued in swift silence. Gabriel had also received a dangerously severe concussion, bruises and lacerations, and Taddeo could only guess at the internal damage done to the organs unprotected by his rib cage. From what they knew, Van Helsing had been repeatedly thrown and pummeled by the creature. He had slash wounds – deep cuts across his lower abdomen and legs. One particularly vicious swipe had come dangerously close to slicing through his left hamstring, which would have crippled him beyond recovery. And, least serious but most ominous, the superficial cut beneath his rib cage on the right side.

Taddeo spoke with Santo for a moment, and then left Van Helsing and walked toward Carl and Jinette, wiping his hands on a cloth as he did so.

"Taddeo?" Jinette's voice was strained.

The Father shook his head. Jinette closed his eyes for a moment.

"What?" Carl asked, glancing from Gabriel's still form to Taddeo, and back again. "What do you mean? What's wrong with him?"

"Carl – "

The friar cut Jinette off, turning to Taddeo, pleading. "Father."

The healer shook his head. "There is nothing to be done," he said.

Carl shook his head. "I won't accept that. There is always something –"

"He's bleeding within." The experienced friar was blunt. "His ribs have broken. Two of them have shattered, driving bone into his lungs. He can't breathe properly, and the organs inside are badly bruised. The blow to the head – men with less serious wounds have fallen asleep and never woken. The wound to his leg might not make him a cripple, but that would be its effect." Taddeo glanced back at Marius and Santo. The former was gently washing the wounds while the latter followed, carefully stitching the cuts closed. "I do not expect he will wake," Taddeo admitted.

"No," Carl gasped. He looked at Jinette. "That can't – no."

The Cardinal's face was drawn, his weariness evident and matched only by Taddeo's grim resignation. The healer ran a hand over his bald head, and said quietly, "All we can do is make him comfortable, and pray that his passing is easy."

Jinette ground out, "And our hopes die with him." The head of the Order turned and left the room, and Taddeo grunted in agreement. Carl stared after him, then took several steps back toward the pallet.

He was silent as he watched over the hunter, his friend, while the cuts were stitched and bandaged. He kept a silent vigil as Van Helsing was bathed, and clad in a loose pair of pants. The young friar sat by his friend as the broken ribs were bound and blankets were brought to cover him. Carl reached out to take Gabriel's hand, lying limp on the sheet. As dawn broke through the windows, Carl blinked, and when he saw that the hunter's chest no longer rose and fell, he squeezed the chill fingers and tightly closed his eyes.

- - - - - - - - - - --

Now, you don't think that after such a long delay, I'd really do THAT, do you? This is just the most evil cliffhanger I could think of, mainly to elicit a response from all you quiet types. (wicked grin). But if I get reviews, I promise not to do anything this evil again. And I might also post the next chapter within a week from today. ;)


	7. Chapter 7

_It was dark, and he knew instinctively that it was not a dream. It was funny, he mused. Unlike most, he'd never had any preconceived ideas about the afterlife. He'd always known better. _

_And he knew now that he was not dead. _

_He should be, he knew that too. _

_But – he couldn't. _

_There was something he had lost. The creature had been right about that, at least. And he needed to find it. _

_There was a strange urgency driving him. Something within his soul knew the importance of what he had lost, knew the essential nature of the piece of himself that was mislaid. Only two things were clear. _

_He had lost himself. _

_He had to go back to the moment when it had slipped out of his grasp to recover the missing piece. _

_His brow furrowed._

_- - - - - - - - - - - - - _

_The creature snarled as Gabriel approached. It looked up from the man writhing, naked, in his own blood. _

_Gabriel could see the man's agony as he came closer. The creature slowly backed away, eyes never leaving him. Yet the hunter's own gaze was fixed on the sufferer, ignoring the creature. _

_He knelt by the man's side, unaware that he knelt in a pool of blood. One hand reached out to gently stroke the tousled curls. The man groaned, and his eyes cracked open. Misery was painted across his face. "Please," the man whispered, eyes soft and begging. "Please."_

_Knowing what the man was pleading for, Gabriel nodded slowly. The man relaxed slowly, a brave smile trembling on the corners of his mouth. "It will be quick," Gabriel whispered. "Sleep."_

_A weapon appeared in his hand, and he plunged it into the man's heart. The body heaved once and relaxed beyond belief. The head lolled, eyes shut, and a small smile rested on his lips. _

_Gabriel turned and stood, glaring at the creature. _

_"The Destiny will be mine," it snarled. Gabriel advanced forward, encroaching upon the creature's space. It backed away, fear and defiance shining in its eyes. "You may be the Left Hand, but I am sent by a higher power. The Destiny will be mine!" _

_"There is no higher power," Gabriel snapped. _

_With a roar, the creature attacked, and Gabriel met the rush head-on. They were evenly matched, of equal strength in every way. Gabriel knew that he had to finish it. It had gone on for too long, and now – the possibility that the scales would be tipped out of balance loomed. The danger would be too great. Innocence would be wiped from the face of the Earth if ever –_

_Gabriel gasped. _

_The creature had pulled a weapon from its white coat. The hunter ignored the wound, calling a weapon to him. A moment later, he was holding a bladed edge of his own. The sword, however, was no match for the creature and he knew it. _

_The creature snarled, blood dripping from its fingers. Red lines were scored across the thing's body. For all it looked like a man, it couldn't have been more different. _

_The creature lunged, and Gabriel dodged. In a beautifully precise move, he turned and thrust the flaming object in his hand through the creature's heart. _

_It laughed. "You cannot defeat me! You have forgotten who you are! You have no power over me!"_

_Knowing the lies for what they were, Gabriel reached out, reached _beyond_, to bring the full extent of his power, his _being_, against this creature. _

_Pain. Something was wrong. So much pain! What was happening? This was not right!_

_Gabriel barely had time to realize the attack before consciousness was ripped from him. _

_- - - - - - - - - - _

_The frown smoothed from his features. _

_With clarity came recognition. He knew now what had happened – what should have never happened. But nothing was impossible. He had learned that lesson with blood and agony. _

_He stretched out, reaching toward the knowledge just beyond his grasp. With an inhuman effort, he extended his entire self towards the clarity that hovered, not quite out of reach._

_Realization struck Gabriel, and with that, came remembrance. His name, his identity came flooding back to him, as well as the knowledge of who – what – he really was. _

_And now he knew why he could not die. _

_Gabriel reached out, reached _beyond . . . .

Carl raised his bowed head when he heard the sound of a breath being released. The tiny noise screamed in the tomblike silence, but he didn't dare to hope.

"Carl?"

The friar started violently, griping the hand in his grasp tightly as he heard the voice. He forced himself to look at his friend's still face – only to have two facts enter his consciousness with the force of a bolt of lightning. The first was that the hand he was clenching so tightly was flexing in return, the flesh warm between his fingers. The second – that Van Helsing was awake, looking at him with clear eyes.

"Holy Mother of God," Carl breathed. "You were dead!"

"Not quite." Van Helsing's eyes sparkled.

Sensing the laughter aimed at him, Carl bristled defensively. "Not breathing. You shouldn't be awake, according to Father Taddeo. As a matter of fact, according to the Vatican healer, even if you did awake – which you are – you couldn't live anyway. Something about punctured lungs."

"Well, the good Father has never had enough faith where I'm concerned."

Carl took in Van Helsing's slight movements with apprehension. "You're not trying to – lie back down!" When he met with resistance after trying to push the presumably weak Gabriel back to the pallet, Carl's eyes widened in shock.

That was all Gabriel needed. Within moments he was up, unwinding the bandage from around his head. The cut there was barely noticeable. Carefully, the hunter probed his ribs, and then grunted in pain – but it was nothing like the agony that had shortened each breath and colored his lips with blood mere hours before.

"I'm thirsty," the admission was made in a soft voice.

Carl started, and then looked a little guilty, before rising and heading for the door. He paused in the doorway, and wouldn't move until he extracted a promise from Gabriel to lie back down. Which the hunter did for approximately one minute before standing and also heading out the door.

By the time he reached his rooms, confident that no one had followed – or preceeded him – to the hidden chambers, he was carrying the remainder of his bandages. The wounds were healed, the bruises themselves fading away.

Gabriel frowned.

His dream had been vivid, but even now the images were slipping away from him, despite all his efforts to retain them. The impressions were all that was left. Darkness, pain – then, an awesome power beyond anything even he could comprehend. Yet, somehow, that power was within his grasp, enveloping him. He just . . . couldn't reach –

The door opened slowly, and Gabriel moved quickly to the trunk at the foot of his bed, heedless of the pitch darkness in the room. In silence and blackness, he dressed. Moving carefully around the room, he grimaced as he realized that in typical Carl fashion, the friar had picked up several items, carried them around the room, and deposited them elsewhere on shelves. Amused that so intelligent a man was, at times, incredibly scattered, Van Helsing continued to arm himself, resolving to double-check all weapons once he was in the lighted passages.

Finally finished, he closed the door and made his way back to the passages. He saw the light far before he heard them approaching, though Carl's voice echoed through the corridors. "I'm almost certain he would have headed this way, Cardinal," the friar panted.

Gabriel grinned. Apparently his absence had been discovered. Now, though – questions would be asked and answered. The hunter frowned, and that was how they found him.

"Van Helsing." The cardinal was angry, and openly confused. "What is going on?"

"The time has not yet come." Gabriel refused to discuss the matter here, though it was probably the most secure location in Vatican City.

"The hell it hasn't!" Carl burst out.

Jinette raised a brow but declined commenting about the friar's breach of etiquette, keeping his attention riveted to the now-healed hunter.

"I can think of no better time or place for you to explain these . . . unusual events," Jinette riposted smoothly. Underlying his control, however, was an inexplicable tinge of fear. Any other man would be long-dead, his last breath leaving him hours before. This man, however, was awake and, if appearances could be believed, fully healthy. The knowledge that something supernatural, and evil, was at work dangled in the back of the Cardinal's mind – and Gabriel knew it full well. He felt an unexplainable sadness, as if something had come to an end. But he did not know what, or why.

The hunter frowned. He was unusually taciturn of late, but that ended now. "There is a demon loose," he said bluntly. "The man in white is a minion of evil."

"Aren't all the creatures we pursue?" Jinette demanded.

Van Helsing began walking toward the false wall that would lead to the man complex. "_ 'The stars are bright still, though the brightest fell._'" He repeated his words to the creature, musing on the meaning.

"Shakespeare?" Carl was puzzling out the phrase.

"The poet spoke of Lucifer," Van Helsing was emphatic about this point. "The light-bringer. One of the sons of God."

"What in the Lord's name do you mean?" The horror of the two clergy was apparent, shining brightly out of Jinette's eyes. Carl was only slightly more composed.

"We're not facing one of the Fallen," Gabriel was swift to reassure. "He is in a prison of his own making, where he is condemned to stay beyond the ending of the world. I speak of his followers, and those of lesser wickedness."

"Lord have mercy," murmured Jinette.

"Amen," Carl breathed.

Gabriel's face, however, was grim.

Noting the unyielding countenance, Carl's eyes widened. "Van Helsing, what happened last night? You fought the creature?"

The hunter shrugged. "I sought out the creature. I believe it was from this evil that I was running when you discovered me on the steps of the Vatican years ago," he informed Jinette.

"You have fought this evil before and lived?"

Gabriel scowled. "Many times." He heard the words before he knew what he was saying, and the hunter pulled up short in shock. "I can't remember!" The words were hurled from his lips. Losing his anger, Van Helsing leant against the wall, breathing deeply.

Carl and Jinette were looking at him, a combination of shock and fear playing across their features. There was less fear than worry in the friar's blue eyes, however.

Rubbing his forehead tiredly, the hunter murmured, "Some things _are_ better off forgotten." A bitter laugh was squeezed from him.

"Van Helsing?"

The hunter straightened, shaking off the despair shrouding him. "There is something I cannot remember," he said. "Something that I came close to remembering last night." Reaching the sliding wall, he kicked the stone, and then replaced it as the others followed him into the lit passageway.

Carl's eyes narrowed, and then unhappiness passed through them as he realized what the hunter meant. "You came closer to death than you will admit," he pressed.

Gabriel was quiet, his eyes flicking back and forth between the two other men. His life had been in the hands of either at more than one point in the past few years. "I died." The admission was made quietly.

"How is this possible?" The Cardinal did not doubt his word for one minute, though his step faltered.

Gabriel frowned. "There is nothing evil about this resurrection," he assured the worried man. "I may not remember much, but I know this. For a short moment, I remembered something. But it was like a dream – and slipped away as I woke."

Gabriel shook his head. "The creature believed this to be a source of great amusement." His voice was biting, dry. "It does not believe me to a match for its skills as I am."

"Perhaps it thinks to discourage you," Carl suggested.

The hunter snorted. "It was toying with me, Carl. As it fought me, I could tell. It was not really _trying_. I think it seeks to use us to find the Holy Lance."

Jinette sucked in a breath. Carl, noting the Cardinal's shock, quickly filled in the older man on what they had discovered thus far, and what they believed the creature's goal to be.

"All those men," Jinette murmured in horror. "Dead simply to discover the location of the Spear."

"No." Gabriel was certain on that point. "The creature visited _only_ locations where the Spear was rumored to be. It did not search randomly - it was tracing a trail. Those men were killed for sport."

They had finally reached Jinette's quarters. Inside these rooms was another entrance to the subterranean part of Vatican City, and the laboratory. Without another word passing between them, the three men entered the chambers, and Carl and Van Helsing followed Jinette as he pushed aside a tall armoire to reveal a door. The locks were opened, and the three started down the stairs.

Something was wrong – Van Helsing knew that before his foot touched the first step. "Stop!" The command froze the two men in their tracks.

"What?" Carl asked.

Van Helsing put out his arm, moving to take the lead. He slipped a rotating blade from its holster in his sleeve. The taint of evil was so faint he knew the creature had not been here, but something was _not right_.

"'You sought sanctuary, did you not? You sought the one place I could not enter'," the hunter breathed, his intonation taking on a terrible resonance. "He has entrance now," Gabriel continued, voice grim.

Moving quickly, Van Helsing led them down the stairs. The feeling of something amiss grew stronger, and the unnatural silence made them hear the sound of their own footfalls, gradually speeding until they were practically racing down the stairs, rushing towards –

The scene that greeted them was a disaster. The smell they had barely noticed on the stairs assaulted them full-force. It was the stench of smoke, and death.

The lab had been destroyed, that night. Shattered wood and glass covered the stone floor. Tables had been broken or overturned, experiments dismantled in the most damaging way possible. In places, the cobbles which composed the floor of the catacombs had been crushed to powder. The air was heavy with the smell of chemicals and blood. With only a few members of the Order on duty, not many were dead. But there were bodies in evidence, eyes glassy and staring, throats slit viciously.

Van Helsing turned to Jinetted, his dark eyes haunted and sorrowful. "Someone has betrayed us."

--------------

(wicked grin) ok, ok, so I'm not that evil. I'm thrilled though, that I received a bit of a response on this. I'm working my brain cells into the ground, here. :) My readers are impassioned, and I'm ecstatic! You saw how well your reviews received a response. I was, quite frankly, inspired. So . . . hit the button, send a review, and play Muse!


	8. Chapter 8

Gabriel wiped the sweat from his forehead and surveyed the laboratory. For now, everyone was on alert. Yet life continued. The catacombs beneath the Vatican were still the center of activity, but it was restoration rather than creation which took place.

Gabriel moved to lean against the wall as he gazed at the progress. The debris had taken three days to clear away, and many of the Order had been forced to keep working through their companions' funerals to pull order out of the calculated destruction. Gabriel had spent his days covered in dust and filth, working almost tirelessly and trying to avoid the sidelong glances of concern and anxiety the assorted clergy were giving him. His condition had been well known, and many knew that he should be dead. While none would stoop to gossiping in front of him, more had the gumption to speak about him behind his back.

Gabriel rubbed his eyes tiredly, taking a deep breath as he slumped against the wall. There was a betrayer within the Order, but he could see no sense in it. There was no personal gain to be had by allying with Lucifer's minions. Either the traitor didn't know that, or didn't care about personal gain – in which case, they were dealing with a zealot whose devotion would lead to their destruction. Gabriel couldn't bring himself to use the word fanatic. He felt only pity for someone so maniacally driven – but pity had never stayed his hand, and would not now.

Pushing back his dark hair, slick and tangled with sweat, Gabriel opened his eyes. He noticed several men glance quickly away, and that same sense of sorrow he had felt when confronted by Jinette three days ago shot through him again. He knew, now, that his time with the Order was coming to a close. He would fight the creature, and that would be the end. Survive or not, he was leaving.

Strangely, the sorrow dissipated with his decision, and was replaced by resignation. It had a familiar feel to it, as if he had done this many times before.

Gabriel growled under his breath, pushing roughly off the supporting stone. He bent himself to the task of cleaning, and started clearing away broken fragments of a table. He hefted a slab of wood onto his shoulders. Hesitantly, some of the men – ones he had spoken to in passing, men who had worked with him for several years – came to help. He offered a tired smile of gratitude.

And his sharp ears caught a few words, muttered not far away – "unnatural. Inhuman."

The wood slipped slightly, and Van Helsing tightened his grip. He made eye contact across the underground chamber. He knew the man speaking only by reputation, which wouldn't lead him to believe the other was speaking about him. But he also knew that tension and grief were strong in the Order now, and the need to strike back – while rare for the gentle men who designed and created for the Order – was running strong.

So after three days of work with only short breaks for food and rest, Gabriel knew his presence was grating on the men working amid the devastation. He noted that there were only a few hours left until the shift change, and he resolved to take his turn then, as he had refused to do for over seventy-two hours.

He ignored the frequent looks and the growing murmurs as he counted the minutes down. With something akin to relief, he left the catacombs three hours later, and tiredly made his way to a small chapel which the clergy had little to do with on a regular basis. The small shrine was normally deserted, the only signs of life the candles that were lit by tradition, rather than through the belief that any actually went there.

The pews were dark wood, and the faint light from the candles was swallowed in the shadows of the deep-vaulted ceilings. Taking one candle, Gabriel slowly moved around the abandoned place of worship, and soon a welcoming glow warmed the beautiful room. This shrine was old, and while clean, it did not garner the attention of the clergy for it did not draw the faithful for mass.

Gabriel had never understood the general lack of interest in the room, but he welcomed the solitude. It embraced him, allowing him to do the one thing no one ever thought he could – pray. Sometimes, he shed tears in this small room, remembering the innocents he had failed, and the men twisted by evil that he had been forced to kill.

He knelt in quiet contemplation before the altar, clearing his mind. The room's gentle golden glow, emphasized by the cream-colored marble, made the chapel a serene retreat.

Gabriel thought over the past few weeks. His murdering of Anna Valerious, an innocent he had sworn to protect, and had loved. The appearance of the creature, and young Michael – another innocent he could not protect.

And the memories. The creature's arrival had shifted broken pieces of his past lying within him; pieces that he had strived to put into order, and been unable to even understand.

He was gazing at the cross, his mind serenely blank, when an image floated in front of his eyes.

_He sighted the other man, whose dark eyes were filled with infinite wisdom and compassion, standing under a tree next to the path. "Gabriel." The greeting overflowed with warmth, and joy. The two men embraced._

_Gabriel smiled in return, the simple happiness of seeing this man flooding his soul. "Little brother," he acknowledged softly. _

_At this the man laughed. "It is good to see you again."_

_"Indeed. You have grown." Gabriel turned a fond eye on the other, who was clothed in a simple robe, sandals on his feet. He was not as tall as Gabriel, yet he had clearly reached maturity._

_His brother smiled. "I was barely a youth when you saw me last," he smiled, and Gabriel laughed to see a rare tinge of mischief in his eye. "I should hope that I have grown, in your eyes at least!"_

_Gabriel's answering smile was gentle, as he looked over the man whom he cherished as a younger brother. _

_The other man – for he was a man, now, at thirty-three – had a pure soul and sober demeanor, with a forgiving heart and gentle strength of dignity rivaled only by the strength of his faith._

_"Of all our Father's sons, Gabriel, I find you the most enigmatic." The comment was made softly, and Gabriel realized that his younger brother was looking him over in turn. _

_He made no reply, simply inclining his head. He was immensely older than the man at his side, though none would know to look at him. He had seen the creation of the stars and the earth, yet the simple power of this man's kind soul was a wonder to him. _

_The two began walking towards the village a scant mile away. "I have spoken with many of the people," Gabriel said softly. _

_His younger brother gazed at him with wise eyes. "You know that soon my mission for our Father will be fulfilled."_

_"Yes." The word was laden with sadness. Gabriel knew the suffering the man beside him faced, and his brother knew as well. He gazed at the young man. _

_"We will never abandon you," he said suddenly._

_The other man, startled, missed his step slightly. He did not even have the time to stagger before Gabriel steadied him, gently grasping his arm. _

_A look of surprise crossed his younger brother's features. "Of course not," he said. Understanding flashed across his expressive face._

_Gabriel closed his eyes momentarily, and concern radiated from him. _

_"You fear for me," his little brother acknowledged. _

_"No," Gabriel returned just as quietly. "I fear you will believe yourself twice betrayed, and in that moment – lose hope."_

_The sun shone brightly on them, and in that moment, they were more alike than they had ever been. Physically, with their tanned skin and dark hair, they were similar, but the concern each felt for the other at that moment was what truly showed their filial bond._

_"Our Father would never abandon me," his younger brother stated with quiet confidence. "Neither would you."_

_"I do not speak of myself."_

_In his younger brother's eyes was gentle comprehension. "No. You speak of Judas."_

_Gabriel nodded, unsurprised that the younger man understood with perfect clarity._

_"I fear you will not leave until you see my destiny fulfilled," Jesus said quietly._

_"No." There was implacable resolve in the one word, yet it conveyed between the two a depth of emotion few ever knew. Gabriel would not leave his little brother alone, to meet his harsh fate without the knowledge that someone who loved and understood him would be there to watch over him, to comfort in some small way those he left behind. _

_The man beside him breathed in slowly. "And yours?" _

_Gabriel smiled, but it was not a kind expression. "I am the Left Hand," he said simply. "I am what our Father has made me, and cannot be less. I will remain."_

_The other man looked saddened. "For how long?"_

_Gabriel closed his eyes once more, pictures and sounds whirling in his head. His voice was so low it was nearly a whisper. "Until it is finished."_

Gabriel drifted out of his reverie with the calm certainty that danger was present. He slowly rose, turning toward the threat. His mind lingered on the memory which remained poignantly clear, his eyes searching out the peril primed to attack.

The man creeping down the aisle turned, and Gabriel could see that he was preparing to flee.

"Stop."

One quiet word should not have frozen the traitor, but it did. Implacable authority refused to allow the man to leave, the mere tone of the word forbidding him to take another step.

Calmly, much too calmly, Gabriel moved toward the betrayer. He did not know this man, whose shiny chestnut locks were sprinkled with grey. But the pale eyes were full of hatred, and Gabriel did not feel anger or disgust – only pity, only sadness, only weariness. And the eyes, sparking with rage, were familiar to him.

"What is your name?"

The other man looked at his expressionless face, and the knife fell from suddenly trembling fingers. Gabriel noted the sound, but kept his eyes fixed on the lined face turned up to him in fear.

"Piotr," he responded lowly.

"Why did you think to kill me, Piotr?" Van Helsing's voice held a compassion that was nevertheless as hard and strong as steel.

The other man did not look away. "You stand in the way," was all he said.

Unfortunately, that statement explained everything.

"You will come with me."

The man nodded, seemingly having given up. Gabriel walked slightly behind the traitor as he escorted the man back to the underground laboratory. The work groups paused as they passed, for Van Helsing had a knife in clear evidence, pointed toward Piotr.

They made their way through the pockets of destruction and laboring men, until they reached the one relatively untouched work area, where Jinette was overseeing the repairs.

"Van Helsing! What's going on?"

"Not now, Carl," Gabriel replied, his senses fixed on the traitor but his eyes focused on Jinette. He heard the friar come up behind him, and could feel Carl's inquiring glance.

"Van Helsing?" Jinette raised his brows questioningly.

"Piotr has betrayed us to the creature."

His quiet words once again had an effect beyond their seemingly miniscule power. There was utter silence in the workroom, which quickly spread to encompass the entire catacombs complex.

Jinette's gaze descended to fix on the man, and the traitor looked quickly away. "Piotr?" Jinette's voice was unaccountably soft.

The betrayer winced, and tears began to slide down his face. He began to speak, and the workers moved closer to hear the softly whispered words. "Not long ago, a pale man approached me. He spoke to me of many things. Of religion, and God - " here, a soft sob. Gabriel had no doubt about the power of the serpent's oily tongue. "I – I began to doubt my faith," Piotr confessed. "The man said he could help me, and give me proof to believe in. All I had to do was open the way for him."

"Yes," Gabriel murmured. "And once the door was open, the creature spilt innocent blood to ensure that he could return at leisure." Michael's blood had ascertained that the creature would be able to return and wreak havoc on them all. Piotr winced.

"The man told me that my duty to him would be done, and there would be proof of my faith, if I could do one last task. I – I planned to kill Van Helsing."

"Well, you're certainly not the first," Carl muttered.

Gabriel shot him an irritated glare.

"What?" Carl asked, surprised. "It's true."

Van Helsing rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"Needless to say, you have failed," Jinette said, cutting off the banter between the two. Poitr's blue eyes were filled with fear. Jinette said harshly, "For your crimes, you shall be -"

Piotr knew his fate – knew that death was imminent. And Gabriel could see the knowledge dawn in his eyes, just as he could see that the betrayer would never submit. To come so far, he had been a talented actor indeed, but his eyes were filled with an unholy rage, one that would not be tamed by words or threats.

Gabriel could see the rage bubbling, and knew the instant it boiled over. He lunged at nearly the same time Piotr did, knocking the crazed man away from his intended target – Jinette. The Head of the Order.

The two tumbled over the floor, and the small crowd which had gathered quickly made space, the clergy pressing themselves against the walls. They were unwilling to fight now, but should Van Helsing fall, they would besiege the traitor.

Van Helsing rolled away from Piotr and to his feet. The other man produced a knife from inside his robes, and the two circled warily. With a shout, the other man rushed Gabriel.

It was over.

Gabriel twisted swiftly to the side, slashing lightly with his blade, and Piotr cried out in surprise as he landed a swift blow. The knife flew from Piotr's hand, and within moments, he was kneeling at Gabriel's feet, with Van Helsing's blade at his throat.

Van Helsing caught sight of Jinette, who nodded at him. Eyes fierce, he glared at Piotr. "The Cardinal is telling me that I should kill you." His voice rang out strongly in the silence. "But I think that to shed your blood would cement the creature's access to our stronghold. You will tell me how you granted the creature access to the Vatican."

Piotr would not meet Gabriel's burning gaze. He swallowed, Adam's apple trembling against the keen edge pressing against his throat. "Piotr!" The command snapped through the air.

"I – I preformed a Black Mass," he whispered. The silence still reigned, but now it was a quietude that bespoke horror.

"And you never intended to kill me," Gabriel returned. "Your goal was to get to the Head of the Order, was it not? To gain from him the location of the Holy Lance?"

Piotr's gaze widened in shock.

Gabriel sneered – he didn't need any other signals to tell him that he was correct. "You will tell Beelzebul that Gabriel remembers him." He spat the soft words with enough venom to make the traitor flinch. "You tell him that the Left Hand remembers, and this time, I will finish it!"

He lifted the knife slightly from Piotr's throat. "Do you understand?"

The betrayer nodded, eyes wide. His entire body was shaking in fear. Gabriel glanced quickly at Carl. The friar was carefully inspecting the scene before him, and Gabriel knew his quick mind was treading onto dangerous ground. "Carl. Rope," he instructed.

"You will not kill him?" Jinette came slightly forward, once again proving his fortitude to Van Helsing.

Gabriel shook his head. "He is a minion of Beelzebul. His life is tied to the creature, now. Killing him would do no good – it would simply let the creature know that we have discovered the traitor." Gabriel's lip curled in disgust. "We will release him in the city after midnight, and let him run back to his master."

"You would grant him mercy for these crimes?" Jinette was shocked. Carl glanced at Van Helsing and was taken aback by a flash of ancient wisdom that passed through the hunter's eyes before it was concealed.

"The Christ forgave Judas Iscariot. Can we do less?"

Jinette only shook his head. After a moment, he spoke. "I fear no good will come of this."

Gabriel shrugged, tightening the knots around Piotr's wrists and arms. A path was made through the members of the Order lining the outer edges of the room, and Piotr was led to the few containment cells in the catacombs.

Gabriel returned swiftly, to find the members of the Order back at work, a thoughtful silence dominating the subterranean complex.

Carl advanced toward him, and Gabriel gave an inward groan, anticipating his question. If he did not handle this carefully, the hunter would be forced to leave before confronting the creature, and that was unacceptable.

He regarded his best friend with dread as the other finally halted in front of him. "Van Helsing, what did you mean by what you said to Piotr?"

- - - - - - - - - - -

Heh. So, the plot gets gloopier. (grin). Thanks for all those who are conscientiously prodding me to get this done. All reviews make me go faster, and in a very fluffy, pink, Energizer-Bunny sorta way. So, please review! (all my thanks to those who decided to play Muse last chap, this story is flying!)

Oh, and PS – I'm reiterating my disclaimer here, and am NOT trying to make any comments on religion (tough though it might be in this case). If you're offended in any way by my portrayal of Christ, I sincerely apologize.


	9. Chapter 9

"_Excuse me?_"

Gabriel repeated himself, taking in Carl's incredulous features. "It was a bluff."

The friar sputtered in indignation. When he finally approached something that qualified as speech, Gabriel was able to make out the phrase – "You don't remember _anything_?"

The truth would never do, and so Gabriel lied, hating himself for it. "No."

"Nothing?" Carl pressed.

The hunter raised a brow. "Well, not nothing. I remember fighting with the Romans -"

The friar snarled.

Gabriel grinned. As Carl groped in silence for something to say, the hunter turned to Jinette. He had recovered from the assassination attempt with remarkable aplomb and had calmly returned to directing the members of the Order.

It had barely been five days since the creature had first been sighted, and had he not been accustomed to it, Van Helsing would have been shocked at the amount that had – and hadn't – happened in that time. His thoughts returned to Michael, and quietly he asked Carl how the boy was doing.

Carl's face went blank with shock, before he flushed miserably. "I'd forgotten," he said softly, his shame apparent.

Van Helsing nodded, and with a few words tried to ease the friar's guilt. When he saw that Carl would not be dissuaded from self-remonstration, Gabriel turned to Jinette and repeated his question.

"The boy?" Jinette shook his head. "He has taken a turn for the worse, and the infection is growing. Taddeo is fighting for Michael as much as is possible, but the boy's strength wanes. It's a miracle he held out this long. One way or another, tonight will decide it." The Cardinal's face was drawn in sorrow.

Gabriel closed his eyes for a moment.

His memories were coming back to him, in bits and large pieces, ever since he had sought peace in the shrine. Remembering his brother seemed to have been the key to unlocking his mind. The images – and there were many – were too numerous for him to even begin to re-process. While all felt familiar, he needed to reabsorb individual events that were now only so much surface gloss. He couldn't even try to categorize them, they were so overwhelming in intensity and – in some cases – violence.

But the memory that he was searching for was different, one of serenity and hope. The soothing image brought with it peace and revitalization. Gabriel knew that if he could only recapture that feeling, then –

The hunter's eyes flew open in realization.

Jinette had already turned away, and Gabriel snagged Carl's arm on his way to the door. "What – Van Helsing, where are we going?"

"To see Michael," Gabriel returned softly. When this was over, he had no desire for the entire Order to have been able to pinpoint his whereabouts with any certainty.

"Right," Carl's voice was soft, his entire bearing that of a person steeling themselves for tragedy.

While Van Helsing strode towards Michael's room with increasing purpose and urgency, Carl lagged. It took the hunter some time to realize his friend's reluctance, but when he did, he was forced to stop dead and wait for the trailing friar.

"Carl?"

The shorter man looked up from under his thatch of rust-colored hair. "I - I don't know that I should see Michael."

Part of Gabriel had expected the soft words, and understood immediately. "Carl, there was nothing more you could have done to help," he gently soothed.

"Wasn't there?" The blue eyes were laden with regret. "Moved the crowd faster, been swifter to help with the bandages - "

"Carl, had you tried to move the people any faster, there would have been panic, which would have helped no one. As it was, you did a wonderful job managing the situation – much better than I could have. I thank God you showed up when you did," Gabriel said frankly, knowing that the other needed to hear it. He took several steps closer to where the friar was despondently propped against the stone wall.

Carl looked up from the ground, and Van Helsing could see the same determined glint in his eye that was present when he had accepted the duty of killing Gabriel should their struggles against Dracula fail. He nodded once, and pushed off from the wall, walking by Van Helsing's side as they continued on to the healing rooms.

The two men remained silent through the corridors. Both pondered the past, though unbeknownst to one, the other was contemplating times before his ancestors were born.

The room was quiet, with the rays of a late afternoon sun gleaming radiantly through the glass, curbed only by gauzy white curtains. A few candles helped illuminate the room with a soft golden glow.

Michael looked very small in the bed, his face pale and dominated by downswept brown lashes. Taddeo gently smoothed back a thatch of chestnut hair that was straggly with sweat. The healer glanced up at the door, his face grim at the prospect of loosing one of his patients, especially one so young.

They kept their voices low, though the boy was so deeply unconscious that he was totally unaware of his surroundings.

"How is he?" Carl's concern was palpable.

Taddeo shook his head. "I do not think it will be long now," he murmured sadly.

Gabriel looked at the boy carefully, then at the healer. "Father," he interjected softly, "do you mind, if only for a moment?" The hunter gestured slightly toward the door.

Taddeo sighed, and said, "You may not get another chance." He ran a hand over his bald head, not knowing what to do with his hands when they were not being used to care for others.

Gabriel nodded, and Taddeo turned, moving toward the door. Together, Carl and Van Helsing approached the bed. Carl sank into the chair beside Michael's still form, and reached out to rest a hand on the child's forehead, unconsciously mimicking Taddeo. "He's burning up," the friar murmured.

Gabriel stilled Carl as the friar shifted. "One moment," he whispered. He rested his hand on Carl's shoulder, and reached for the memory in his mind. It was so bright, so clear, easy to grasp.

"Van Helsing?"

"Shh." Gabriel closed his eyes, and reached out, _beyond_ . . . And now that he knew what he was looking for, it came to him with the ease of familiarity, filling him with tranquility and warmth.

Carl's soft gasp barely registered, and Gabriel felt the sensation flow from him, through the friar, to the boy. Long moments they were frozen, before Gabriel slowly leant forward, guiding Carl's other hand unerringly to the wound in the boy's side.

They remained like that, feelings of comfort and serenity moving within them, until Gabriel knew that it was finished and slowly drew away.

Michael's breathing was easier, his face no longer the white pallor of impending death. He was sleeping now, rather than imprisoned within unconsciousness.

Carl's attention was caught on the boy, and he gently stroked the child's face in wonder. Michael shifted, sighing contentedly in his sleep, and the friar cautiously pulled away, smoothing the cover as he stood.

"A miracle," his voice was full of awe.

"The power of God," Gabriel softly affirmed.

The friar's eyes were fixed on Michael. "Is he - "

"He will be fine," Gabriel hastened to reassure his friend.

"How did you do it?"

Caught, the hunter froze. At that moment, Taddeo appeared in the doorway. He moved quietly to them and said, "Are you - "

Gabriel nodded. "Carl?"

Behind Taddeo's back, the friar glared at him. "Yes," he answered, his voice remarkably free of exasperation.

The two men left the room before Taddeo discovered Michael's drastically improved condition. Van Helsing braced himself for a barrage of questions as soon as they were out of range of the healing quarters, but they didn't come. Feeling slightly uneasy, he waited.

They were nearly at the archives before Carl said anything, and the first words out of his mouth were the last thing Gabriel expected.

"You lied to me," he said at length.

The hunter winced, knowing that if Carl had worked out that much, any dissembling on his part would simply cause a greater rift between them. "Yes," he responded honestly.

"I think I know why, but I'd rather you tell me." Carl's voice was uncharacteristically sober.

"I have to leave," Gabriel returned. He ignored the friar's stunned expression. "Not until after I have finished with the creature. But – this is the longest I've allowed myself to stay anywhere. Had I my full memory at the time, it never would have happened."

"But you remember who you are now," Carl's voice was flat.

"Yes, I know what I am."

The friar was quiet, absorbing the distinction. "What are you?" he finally asked, wanting to hear it.

"The Left Hand of God." Gabriel's words were simple, yet filled with an . . . acknowledgement of . . . _something_. Something beyond the scope of mortal ken, Carl found himself thinking whimsically, before he banished the idea.

"And – Michael?"

Gabriel was silent for a long moment. "He was an innocent, and it was not his time." The hunter inexplicably knew that Michael did indeed have a greater purpose in the world; the creature's attack, for all it's suddenness, had not been random.

Carl raised a brow. "This all is – very unlike you," he assessed the hunter.

Gabriel snorted. "I am a bit worried about how you're taking it."

Carl looked at the man – the _angel_ – sideways. "On the whole, I think I'm doing rather well," he informed him. "I've just discovered that my best friend is actually one of God's own servants, who has lived since the creation of the world, and oh, yes, he's also planning to leave as soon as he's killed a minor Fallen angel who is wreaking havoc on the Order and against whom he has a personal vendetta. Did I miss anything?"

"It's more duty than revenge," Gabriel muttered somewhat grumpily.

"Ah, yes, and the healing," Carl overrode him without missing a beat. "What in God's name happened back there?"

The friar's voice was rising, and Gabriel gave him a considering glance. In all honesty, Carl _was _doing much better than Van Helsing had expected. Now, however, the young man was loosing the little control he had held over the situation.

Gabriel drew the friar into a small side chapel, making sure it was empty before bolting the door. "Gabriel?" Carl was almost pleading. Gabriel turned to his friend. "What happened with Michael?"

The hunter sighed. "What you felt was the Power of God," he said simply. "It was a laying on of hands, and yes, you were the conduit. I couldn't choose anyone else."

"Why?"

Gabriel gave Carl a measured glance. "You have faith," he said simply. It wouldn't do to tell Carl that the purity of his soul, despite what little he had seen and done, was what had made the difference. Although the friar would argue otherwise, he still held an innocence that was safely protected behind dry sarcasm and a quick mind.

"Taddeo - "

"Is the Vatican's most skilled in the healing arts. He has saved, and lost, hundred of patients. He has seen too much death to hold out hope where he knows there can be no recovery," Gabriel replied gently. He knew that Carl would understand. Taddeo was the finest healer in the Vatican, but his faith was worn after seeing the many ailments of mankind – not the least, what people did to one another.

"It was . . . ." Carl, ever verbose, trailed off and shrugged helplessly. Gabriel understood. The power of God was beyond the ability of mortals to put into words. In the language of archangels, there was a word which was used, and it meant purity, peace, wonder and hope all rolled into one.

"Yes," Gabriel smiled, "it was."

Gabriel unlocked the door, and the friends walked through the corridors to the archives. Reaching the third room, where they had spent a good deal of their time tracking the Spear, they surveyed the massive amounts of knowledge penned on papers lying haphazardly on every available surface. The two were silent, Gabriel trying to give Carl all the time he needed to absorb the latest knowledge thrust at him. As always, his friend surprised him with the speed of his mind.

"Why couldn't you just do it?" Carl asked, curious, and returning to a conversation Gabriel had hoped closed.

Caught off guard, Van Helsing replied, "It doesn't quite work like that."

"How does it work?"

Gabriel shook his head fondly. He should have expected something like this. "Carl . . ."

"Well? How?"

Turning serious for a moment, Gabriel responded, "If I had touched him, it would have killed him."

Carl paled considerably. "So - "

At that moment, Van Helsing conveniently stumbled over a stack of papers they had recently been searching through, shoving the parchments and vellum across the stone floor. "Oops."

Carl gaped at him.

Gabriel was always sure of his feet – it was a survival trait.

But the mess was quite impressive, and effectively diverted the friar's attention.

Not for long, but long enough for Gabriel to gather his wits on the subject. For all his genius, Carl would never understand that his simple and devoted faith was able to change so much. Quite simply, Carl _believed_ in the Lord, in the goodness of God and, also, he believed in humanity – the fruits of God's labors. Such a level of unadulterated belief was incredibly rare; most people were made jaded and cynical by life, and soon lost the absolute trust of childhood.

It was not something seen on the surface, but rather a trait that lay understated at the core of his being. And this was the reason why, when Carl touched Gabriel, he could feel to a great degree what the hunter's senses detected – from the creature's evil taint to the Power of God.

As soon as the papers were stacked, Carl turned and began poring through them again, spreading them out in some convoluted sense of order that Gabriel needed to stare at extensively to make sense of. "Now I know perfectly well that there's no way you actually tripped over that pile of parchment," the friar smoothly interrupted his own mutterings about chronology. "But since you went to all the trouble, I'll drop the subject. For now."

"Thank you," Gabriel said quietly.

The friar threw him a quick grin at his sobriety, and turned his attention back to a crumbling text in his hand.

- - - -- - - - - -

This chapter is dedicated to Toto, who was very persistent about prodding me to get my butt moving. I also received several very thought-provoking messages from Toto, some of which have influenced me to build more into the story than I was planning.:)All the better for you. I'm once again lost. :)

I apologize for the delay – real life happened to me, with a vengeance. Exams. I will say no more.

Review, please?

PS – to all those grimacing over the fact that I haven't updated SHIDACHI yet, I'm sorry. I'm very much without a map on that one, but I am working on it.


	10. Chapter 10

Gabriel covered a yawn. Carl was slumbering behind a book that had previously been propped in his lap. It was now sliding inexorably from his slackened grasp. Moving quickly and quietly, Gabriel was able to snag the tome as it headed for an undoubtedly loud impact with the floor.

"Carl?" He gently shook the friar, who muttered something incomprehensible and merely shifted in his seat. "Carl."

This time the friar came awake. "Van Helsing. Dear God, what time is it?"

"Late. Past your bedtime." Gabriel suppressed a grin at Carl's grumble over his light teasing.

The friar completely ignored him, spied his book in Gabriel's hand, and promptly snatched the tome from the amused hunter.

"Where was I?"

"About to go to sleep," Gabriel interjected helpfully, ignoring the glare in favor of moving to the window.

"Spear of Longinus, Holy Lance, the Spear of Destiny," Carl muttered to himself as he picked through the overlarge text.

After a few moments of carefully scanning elaborate lines of script, Carl dropped the book with a resounding thud onto the oaken tabletop. It quivered. Gabriel eyed the overburdened table warily.

"No good," the friar said at last.

"You only spent a few moments looking," Gabriel pointed out.

"And an hour with that same text _before_ I fell asleep," Carl's indignation rolled off him in waves. "And seven hours before that searching for any mention of _anything_ in _all_ of the texts in the indexed system, which catalogues in detail each of the six archive rooms - " The friar blew out a breath in frustration.

Van Helsing grimaced. He knew all this, of course, mainly because he had been working with Carl on it.

"There's no information about the Spear once it reached the Vatican," Carl concluded miserably. "It seems to have vanished."

Gabriel snorted. "No, it's just been lost."

Carl nodded grimly. "Aye, catalogued and put on a shelf somewhere in Vatican City. Using Brother Yakov's filing system, no doubt," he sneered, in ill temper. Gabriel laughed, and tried to turn the noise into a cough with only marginal success. Carl glared in his general direction.

"Or hidden," the hunter offered, and hearing his own words, he frowned a little.

"What? What is it?" Carl had learned to jump on these small, thoughtful silences in search of clues that would help lead them to a solution.

Gabriel glanced at him, but his eyes were turned inward, seeing something very far away. "I was just wondering why the creature needed access to the Vatican, and why, when he got it, very nearly the first thing he did – after securing entrance for himself by attacking Michael – was destroy the laboratory."

Carl shrugged. "It did strike us a devastating blow. No one has ever penetrated this far into the realm of the Knights of the Holy Order."

Gabriel's scowl did not lessen – if anything, his countenance grew darker. "No," he murmured. Then he repeated himself, louder. "No. No one is any match for him here. There is no need for him to attack the Order – he has his sights set on the Lance, and on delivering the tool of mankind's destruction to his master."

"So why would he go to the trouble of penetrating so far into our defenses? It doesn't make any sense." Carl was pacing, yet froze as a thought struck him. "Unless he thinks the Lance is hidden in the catacombs."

Gabriel nodded. "Exactly."

Moments later the two men were walking as quickly as they could toward the entrance to the now barren laboratory.

"What if he's already got it?" Carl panted.

Van Helsing shook his head. "He doesn't."

"How do you know?"

"The Earth would be overrun by creatures of darkness."

"I mean besides that."

"Armageddon."

"I mean besides that."

"We would all be dead."

"Ah, well then, I think we might just be in time," Carl wheezed, doing his best to keep up with the long-legged hunter.

In moments, they had reached the confessional, and the friar nearly bounded down the stairs.

The laboratory was continually staffed now, with dozens of members of the Order reconstructing, rebuilding, and piecing together the decimated experiments and gadgets.

Carl stopped short and said plaintively, "But how in God's name are we going to _find_ it? These catacombs are huge!"

Van Helsing frowned. "They've been cleared of everything. It would be easiest to check for irregularities in the stonework. The floor, the walls – if there are any indications, that is where they would be."

Carl rolled his eyes. "Has it ever been that easy?"

"I thought you mentioned something about not being a field man?"

"This isn't the field," Carl felt compelled to point out.

Van Helsing grunted, and muttered under his breath, "At this point, it might as well be."

"I heard that!"

Carl's voice bounced back to Gabriel across the chamber, drawing the curious attention of several of the holy men working within. The two had separated, and began peering at the walls and floor.

After several hours of fruitless staring, Gabriel rubbed his eyes and glanced at Carl. The two had worked their way through the large entrance chamber and had separated to examine the small storage chambers which were connected by short, narrow hallways to the main laboratory.

The friar was squinting avidly at something he had found. "Carl?"

"What is it?"

He had definitely found something, all of his attention riveted to the wall. Gabriel was more than a little suspicious. It was much too easy, despite the painstaking search and Carl's remarks to the contrary. Even with the help that Carl had commandeered – which had turned out to be nearly twenty extra sets of eyes, all told. The numbers had dropped, as it was now approaching the early hours of the morning.

He strode over to the friar, who was tracing a marking of some sort scratched into the stone. "You found something?"

"This - " Carl waved an impatient hand at the rough scoring. "I know this."

"What is it?"

"Someone etched the sigil of St. Linus into the stone. That's curious."

"St. Linus?"

"He was the second pope of the Roman Catholic Church, who was ascended to the papacy around 67 AD and martyred somewhere about 76 AD."

"Yes," Gabriel muttered to himself, thinking back. "He was one of Peter's students."

"Really?" Carl was intrigued. "Not much is known about him – all of our records for that time period are mostly held to be apocrypha."

"He followed Peter to the papacy, after spending several years as his adjutor. It's no wonder none of the dates agree, especially the _Liber Pontificalus_. Why would someone inscribe his sigil here?"

Carl shrugged, his shaggy auburn hair brushing his brow. "Not much is known about his time. There are significant doubts as to his importance, and quite honestly his martyrdom - "

Gabriel snorted, focusing in on a comment that had escaped his attention moments before. "The Church martyred him?"

"Well, yes. Should we not have?"

Gabriel smiled a little, brushing his hand over the round symbol. "Well, he was a good man. Peter chose his students sensibly, and he learned well. But he was only Pope for little more than a decade. Caught an ague. There wasn't much avid persecution at that time, no matter what the histories will tell you. Not until a few years later." Gabriel's face darkened with memory as his fingers lightly traced the roughly scratched lines.

Carl, remembering Gabriel's mention of the Romans in 73 AD, turned his attention to the marking once more. "But it doesn't mean anything," he muttered.

Gabriel's head snapped toward him. "What?"

Carl looked at the sigil. "It doesn't have any real meaning. It's just the symbol of his papacy. What is it doing down here?"

"Maybe . . ." Gabriel trailed off. He looked around, and seeing that there were few people present, he pulled out one of the many knives secreted around his body.

"What are you going to do with that?" Carl asked, his tone withering, yet nevertheless he drew closer as Gabriel crouched slightly in front of the marking in the stone. Instead of turning his blade toward the wall, he first knocked carefully near the stone with the hilt, tapping the mortar firmly.

The hunter let out a small, satisfied noise as a bit of brown-stained mortar tumbled out. Then, using the hilt – this weapon had an unusually slender grip – he slammed the metal, hard, against the top left corner of the stone.

Aged and worn, the rock cracked. One more solid strike crushed a corner of the stone to powder. Gabriel used the tip of the blade to gently pry out the mortar around the small block, and Carl's slender fingers wiggled it out into Van Helsing's waiting hands. The friar stepped back, turning the stone over and examining it closely. The side with the symbol was slick with exposure and smudged with soot from candles. All other sides, however, were rough and gray with dust.

Gabriel's only hesitation was a short pause to give the dark hole a considering glance. Carl gaped as the hunter reached into the newly-made gap in the stones. Gabriel made a small face as he continued to reach until his elbow disappeared into the hole.

His fingers fetched up against what he judged to be a rough-hewn stone wall, and he frowned in surprise.

"What's in there?" Carl was morbidly curious. It was well-known that many popes were buried in the Vatican, and rumored that not a few were secretly interred within the catacombs themselves.

"The crypts are under another section of the Vatican, Carl," Gabriel snorted, gently feeling around for anything he might have missed. "Besides, you know that anyone of real prestige is not buried in the catacombs." It was true – mostly only lower members of the clergy rated entombment in the catacombs. Sometimes there was so little space available that only the skull could be inhumed.

Gabriel pulled his hand from the recess and tiredly wiped the dust off onto his trousers, where the smeared handprint was a stark contrast against the dark linen. "There's nothing there."

"Are you sure?"

Gabriel nodded. "It's nothing more than a straight channel into the wall. Its length is a little less than a cubit."

"Indeed." Carl glanced at Van Helsing's arm, still dusty from elbow to fingertips. He turned the block over in his hand as Gabriel began to examine the wall around the hole. Carl looked at the mark once more, a vagrant thought flitting through the back of his mind.

"Carl, give that here," Van Helsing gestured for the block. He was peering at the wall just to the right of the gap in the stones, and as soon as the weight of the stone hit his palm he turned the block and gently slid it back into position. "What? What is it, what do you see?" Carl asked as Gabriel rapped the wall with a knuckle in frustration.

"Look at the mortar, here, and here." The hunter pointed at knee level and raised his arm, the gesture encompassing the height of the wall to just above chin level.

"It's gray." Carl stated the obvious, and then repeated himself when that knowledge sank in. "It's gray. It's newer. Someone repaired the wall recently."

"If you call within the last hundred years or so recent."

"So it's possible that there were more marks that were removed."

Gabriel stared at the dingy wall. "No, I don't think so. The stones here look the same as the rest, the same type, almost as worn. It's possible that there was a water leakage that caused the mortar to weaken, and the wall's stability became a concern." It was a common problem within the cellars of many elaborate buildings, and foundations were always treated with utmost attention.

"It certainly would be cheaper to reuse the stones," Carl agreed. "So where does that leave us?"

The hunter shrugged.

"We're missing the head of the Holy Lance, and we have the symbol of Pope Linus." Carl's eyes narrowed, staring irritably at the stone. "There is a St. Linus Church within the Vatican," he muttered.

Gabriel turned to him. "Then I suggest we look there. This is the only indication we've gotten of anything slightly out of the ordinary," he pointed out.

"Well, yes, but if I wanted to hide the Spear where no one would find it, I'd hardly go around leaving clues to its location," Carl returned as they turned sideways to sidle through the narrow passageway.

"What if you forgot where it was?"

"I think that would be the entire point, wouldn't it?"

The two continued their banter as they emerged into the main chamber. Gabriel was surprised by the number of men working there, given the fact that he estimated the day to be only into its fourth hour.

As Carl began walking toward the stairs, a young Buddhist named Suvrata caught his sleeve. There were many holy men, spanning all the major faiths and several of the minor ones, who understood the goal of the Knights and worked willingly as members. The only reason the Order's work took place primarily in Vatican City was the space, the ease of secrecy within the bowels of the Vatican, and the protection of the pope. Suvrata was just one of the thirty or so Buddhists who lived and worked with the Order. His robes were tan-orange in the light, which gleamed off his shaved skull. "Carl!" he breathed, dark eyes shining with wonder. "Have you heard? Michael is well!"

Carl started, surprised that word had traveled this quickly. Gabriel wasn't, but the hunter smiled as was expected.

"Thank God!" The friar recovered himself quickly.

"No, Carl, you don't understand," Suvrata insisted. "He is not simply well, he is completely whole. It is a miracle!"

Carl's face mirrored the shock he was expected to show.

"Not even the Cardinal knows how," the man continued. He was only slightly older than the friar whose robe he still clutched in his excitement. "The Pope has simply called it a miracle, but Taddeo insists that he has no knowledge of how this could occur."

"Michael is healed, then?" Carl asked, confirming that which he was already certain.

"There is not even a scar," Suvrata proudly stated. A wrinkle creased the holy man's forehead for just a moment before it was smoothed away. "I believe Taddeo is shaken," he confided in the friar, selectively ignoring the hunter at his side. "Nothing like this has ever happened, unless in the time of your Christ," he allowed. "He was shocked, and his face was quite white. I do not believe that he expected Michael to live." Sadness tinged his features at the tragedy so narrowly averted, but was quickly banished in the glow of awe.

Carl exchanged a few more words with Suvrata before he was able to pry himself away. In that time, Gabriel looked around the room and saw that, even within the glow of happiness and amazement that permeated the air, many of the holy men still glanced at him sidelong.

Gabriel listened to Carl with one ear as he tried to sort out the difference in the emotion aimed toward him now. It was no longer a mix of wary suspicion tinged with a jealousy he had only just discerned. The men were no longer jadedly wondering why a violent man with no past and no future should be saved when a youth lingered in suffering. Before, he had understood their resentment. For all his efforts, he was intrinsically set apart from them because of what he was; and it is always easier to find fault with, and resent, that which is different.

Now, though, the darker emotion had mellowed, yet the curiosity was growing, and that was the attitude he dreaded the most. He could not stay long. The members of the Order were men distinct from their compatriots in intelligence, wisdom, and skill. He could not chance their discovering who he really was. Seeing the many speculative glances averted as his eyes traveled the room, he felt his gut clench in anxiety. He needed to leave, and soon.

- - - - - - - -

Thank you to all my faithful reviewers, you guys rock!!

Ack, it's growing, with no end in sight! Sorry for the delay, but research was called for, and I wanted to meat this up some.

I hope you enjoy, and please take just a moment to review, and make my day!


	11. Chapter 11

Carl's mind raced, his feet barely keeping pace as he ascended the stairs, and he waited impatiently at the top for Gabriel. The hunter ascended more slowly, cocooned in darker thoughts. A small part of his mind was turning over the possibilities of what they might find in St. Linus' Church, but the greater part was preoccupied with his impending departure – and the careful balance he needed to strike.

Carl huffed as he saw Van Helsing appear around the bend in the stairwell. "Are you coming?" he called.

Van Helsing nodded, hiding a yawn behind his hand. While Carl was quite used to working for two or even three days on end, the hunter had not had ample chance to rest since his resurrection little over four days ago. While he was both something more and less than human, he had the same needs, though he did not feel them as acutely, and could function well beyond mortal endurance. But healing Michael was much like stretching a long-unused muscle; it had taken more of his strength than he was prepared to admit. While Carl had been energized by acting as a conduit for such immense power, Gabriel had been drawing and tempering the energy, and was wearied by the effort.

In addition he was worried, for the creature had not shown itself for several days. Beelzebul, and the few others like him, thrived on chaos and despair. It was truly unlike him to remain so quiet for so long, and it boded ill.

If the creature did not make a move soon, Gabriel would be forced out of the Vatican before being given a chance to defeat the creature. While this would not do much more than cause the hunter a good deal of inconvenience, it could prove more than dangerous to the members of the Order he would be forced to leave behind. Now that Beelzebul had almost unrestricted access to the Vatican, until Gabriel could defeat or exorcise him – both of which would undoubtedly drag far too much attention to him – he could not leave the world's only line of defense against evil in such danger.

He was, he admitted as he followed Carl down unfamiliar corridors, in a tight quandary.

Focusing his attention at the aggravated friar who was almost running in his excitement, Gabriel quickened his pace to Carl's satisfaction. Carl was muttering disjointedly at intervals, trying to remember the shortest way to the opposite side of the Holy City.

The main section of the underground laboratory was primarily located beneath the Pontifical Academy of Sciences, just north of the most notable structure in all of the Holy City – St. Peter's Basilica. The catacombs were accessible from specific points within the Academy, as well as a confessional entrance within the Basilica and several more located in separate outlying structures that were currently in use as lodgings for the clergy and education centers within the city. The chances of anyone who was not a member of the Order – for there were thousands of priests within the Vatican, and only a select number even knew of the Knights of the Holy Order – were quite slim. In addition, the Vatican City had its own type of protection, from the descendants of warrior-priests to sacred blessings of magnanimous power. It was the most protected and secure place on Earth. Or had been.

St. Linus' Church, however, was far to the west of the main Vatican complex, through the Gardens and just to the south of the Lourdes Grotto. It was a medium-sized building, far from the enormous grandeur of the Basilica in both size and decoration.

Van Helsing followed Carl through the dawn stillness that prevailed within the Vatican Gardens as they skirted the southern edge of Deacon Ceslovas's triumph. The lanky gardener, of age with Jinette, ruled his verdant realm with a gentle hand. Those holy men under his tutelage counted themselves twice blessed to have a teacher of such knowledge and kindness. Gabriel had to admit that the backbreaking work yielded incredible results – the Gardens were possessed of ethereal beauty, dusted with dew and the dawning rays of golden sunlight.

Carl followed the path as it curved to the right, and Gabriel noted that he took the first left possible, heading them south toward the Church. The Lourdes Grotto was visible to the north, but they headed in the opposite direction, turning their backs on the shrine.

When they finally reached said building, after many minutes of walking broken only by Carl's rapid-fire history on St. Linus' Church, Gabriel could not recall ever being there before. His stays in Vatican City were usually short, between assignments. He rarely got the opportunity for an extended stay, and when such a situation did occur, he had spent the majority of it wandering around the eastern part of the Vatican complex and in the city of Rome itself. He had spent a small amount of time enjoying the peace of the Gardens, mostly while healing after he had been found on the steps of the Basilica, but had never found the time to venture beyond.

As he gazed at the church, he noted the similarities in architecture that marked almost every holy building in the Vatican. Stained glass windows reflected the first rays of the sun, and the statues of angels and saints staring impassively at all comers were bathed in shadow.

Instead of using the main doors, Carl made his way to the side entrance reserved for the clergy, and Gabriel followed, unsurprised to find it unlocked. Even with the hushed rumors of a creature that hunted the clergy, hundreds – nay, _thousands_ – of years of security within the boundaries of Vatican City dictated the trusting behaviors of those residing there.

The Church was empty so early in the morning. Gabriel looked on the Church, built in the standard shape of the cross with the altar at the far end on a raised dais. Above the tabernacle was both a depiction of the crucifixion, and an elaborate glass window facing north. While the effort spent in glorifying this shrine was nowhere near the hours expended upon the St. Peter's, there nonetheless was much decoration. Benedictions in Latin were inscribed high above the heads of worshippers, scrolling across the walls in plain script. Small side shrines of families who had dedicated money, supplies or man-hours were built into small recesses into the east and west walls. Many of these shrines contained family crypts as well, Gabriel noted.

Carl, inured to such magnificence through his years at the Vatican, immediately dedicated himself to the search for another clue, and called Gabriel to him.

"I think we may need more assistance," he said, eyes flickering around the room. While not on the scale of the Basilica, the Sistine Chapel or Apostolic Palace, St. Linus' Church was still considerably large enough to merit several more hands and eyes.

"Who can we trust?" Gabriel asked. There were those among the Order would work with them and keep a closed mouth, and more than any other, Carl would know who they were.

Carl's gaze turned inward as he mentally scrolled through the names of possibilities. "I think I know a few people," he said, and Gabriel nodded. There was no way they would be able to search through this entire complex on their own. They had gotten lucky in the catacombs, but Van Helsing was still suspicious of their apparent success. It had been a little too easy, and the emptiness of the small compartment behind the sigil still bothered him.

Still, they had no other lead, no idea where to even begin to look for the Spear. The least they could do would be to search this structure as thoroughly as possible.

While Carl raced back to the Pontifical Academy, Van Helsing continued to wander throughout the church. He entered many of the side shrines, where many of the rich families of Rome – the Medici, and others – were entombed. Near the altar was the crypt of Anacletus, third pope of Rome. The man had taken over in 77 AD until his martyrdom in 88 AD. His remains were enshrined in the church dedicated to his predecessor.

The quiet creak of the church door opening snagged his attention. Gabriel turned from his contemplation of the stone coffin protecting Anacletus' bones, hyperaware for danger. Moving soundlessly, he quickly concealed himself in the shadows of the doorway leading to the darkened enclave. He shifted slightly, every sense on the alert, a hand reaching for his blowgun.

It was Carl, returning from the Academy – but he was alone. Gabriel blinked. How long had he been lost in thought? Shaking away the errant musing, he replaced his weapon and stepped from the shadows. Carl noticed him immediately and raced over.

When he got a proper look at the friar, Van Helsing tensed. "What's wrong?"

Carl gasped for breath between words. "We've just received word." He bent over at the knees, swiping at his sweaty brow. The words, uttered somewhere around knee-height, were muffled. "The Church of St. Augustine was searched last night. It's being razed, as we speak." Carl straightened in time to rush after Van Helsing as the hunter raced from the building.

He searched the skies, and saw nothing, then ran to the corner of St. Linus', turning to face northward. In the distance, a gray cloud of smoke surged angrily into the skies. Gabriel stopped dead at the sight, entire body stilling in horror.

Carl lurched to a stop at his side. "There are members of the Order there now, trying to get the flames under control."

"The clergy?" Gabriel asked.

Carl, grasping that he was not referring to their own, slowly shook his head. "They have not been found, as yet."

The hunter's mouth twisted. "They are dead, then." Gabriel turned his gaze from the smoke staining the sky and gazed at Carl. "Why that church?"

The friar shook his head. "I don't know."

Gabriel looked back to the smoke. "Jinette is sure that this was not an accident?"

Carl sighed. "Quite sure."

Gabriel shook his head, and turned on his heel. "Did you find anyone willing to help us search?" he called back over his shoulder.

"What?" Carl followed him once more, voice strident in astonishment. "Do you mean that we're not -"

"No," Gabriel cut him off. At the upset sputters behind him, he turned. "The church is burned. The creature found nothing, or we would know. At the very least, the destruction of the building itself was to harm as many as possible, and sow unease. At worst, it is lying in wait for us to appear. Even if it is not, the impact of our presences investigating there would lend notice to an event that Jinette can write off as an accident."

Carl eyed the hunter with the dawning of realization. "Do you mean to say that even within the Order, missions are concealed?"

Gabriel rubbed his eyes. "Carl," he sighed. "What do you think would happen if it became known that the very existence of the world is imperiled, by a creature which always seems to be one step ahead? By a being who is favored by the Light-Bringer himself?"

Carl's quick mind found the answer, as it was an emotion he found himself flirting with as the hunter's grim words fell through the distance between them. "Panic."

Gabriel nodded. "At the very least." He turned from his inner thoughts and focused on the friar at his side. "Did you find anyone willing to help us?" he asked.

Carl nodded. "I was returning when I heard the news."

"How many?"

"Seven, right now. Five more in an hour or so."

Gabriel's brow lifted in surprise. He had expected perhaps four – nowhere near the muster Carl had raised. "You know, they weren't very keen on working anywhere near you," the friar said slyly, with a sidelong look at the black-clad figure at his side. "Jinette was in earshot, though, and they couldn't very well say no."

Amused, Gabriel snorted. Trust Carl to have finessed others into assisting him in the most devious – and binding – manner possible.

"So how many will actually show up?" he asked.

"Looks like they're all here now," Carl's voice smugly sounded from behind him. Gabriel turned to find seven men approaching through the Gardens, talking quietly amongst themselves.

Gabriel nodded, a smile twitching the corner of his mouth. "Break them up into teams; have them scour sections of the church for anything that could be even slightly relevant."

"What are you going to do?" Carl asked.

"I'll search the shrines," he responded. Years of hunting in the dark had given him excellent night-sight, and the tiny shrines annexing the main church were shadowed. Candles might help, but Van Helsing suspected that they would simply be wasted in the half-light permeating the small rooms. Carl nodded and before his presence could cause a stir, Gabriel slipped into the church once again. He heaved a sigh, resting against the closed doors for a moment while Carl spoke to the others outside.

St. Augustine's. A fair distance from Vatican City, but not far. At this point in the chase, the creature would not go to a location unless it believed the Spear to be hidden there. It was certainly possible that the Spear lay sleeping within Rome herself, but somehow Gabriel did not think it was outside the Holy City. Protected as Rome was, the Vatican complex would be the most certain place to conceal such a potent evil, masking it within the overpowering presence and security offered to the City. Frowning, Gabriel let his gaze pass idly over the interior of the Church, but he could sense nothing. The frown deepened. Shaking his head, he turned to the first small sepulcher, and as he passed into the shadows he heard Carl and the other men enter the church.

His suspicions were borne out six hours later. The men, eyesore and anxious, stopped their meticulous search in order to eat. Gabriel, exhausted, moved to the outside steps of the church, shading his tired eyes as he breathed in the fresh air. A breeze was blowing, gentle and cool, bringing with it the scent of the flowers in the gardens and the sound of church bells across the Vatican striking half-past noon. With the light, the ache in his head – borne of squinting at details in semi-darkness – alleviated slightly.

Carl sat down next to him on the steps leading to the entrance to St. Linus'. "Any luck?" the friar asked glumly.

Gabriel shook his head. They had experienced a fortunate windfall, discovering the sigil of Linus in the catacombs. However, he couldn't help but feel that they were overlooking something. The sunlight warmed him as he listened to the members of the Order conversing quietly off to his left, where they sat on the stairs eating their midday meal.

"Why?" he murmured, his mind focused on the church as his eyes focused inward. Why here? It was safe, and obscure enough, but nowhere near the protection needed for such a dangerous object. He had the abject feeling that he was missing something vital. Frowning, he decided to start at the beginning.

"Carl, what do we know about St. Linus, and the sigil we found?"

The friar shrugged. "Not much is known about the earliest papacies. Records have been lost, in moving, in fires, in Brother Yakov's filing system . . ."

Gabriel felt a weary smile pull at his mouth, and gave in to it. "Other than that," he continued, leaning farther back against the stairs to rest on his elbows.

"There are limited accounts, several short biographies on the earliest popes. But they are at least one-hundred and fifty years after that time. Why?"

Gabriel shrugged, not answering.

Carl would not be put off. "You think we're looking in the wrong place," he guessed. "I'm right?" he gasped, as Van Helsing shot him a dark look, warning him to be quiet. The other men were close enough to hear their conversation, and he didn't want them loosing heart or overlooking something because they didn't expect to find anything. There was always the chance that he was wrong, after all.

But Carl needed an answer. "I don't know," Gabriel sighed, rising slowly. He walked to the corner of St. Linus' as he had done that morning, and gazed north. Smoke, faint but present, was still rising to the heavens. St. Augustine's still burned, then. There was almost no way to get such a large fire under control – in many cases, containment was the limit of action that could be taken, to preserve the nearby homes and structures.

Carl stood next to him, and quietly voiced his own troubles. "I keep thinking of the flagstones in the floor that were crushed to powder in the attack," he confided. Gabriel half-turned, surprised. "What if there were other symbols, or clues, or some such inscribed on them, and the creature found and destroyed them to hinder us?" the friar continued.

The hunter had not considered that aspect of the situation. He rubbed his forehead, feeling the slight ache there begin to build. The two men stood in silence for some time, before Gabriel finally spoke. "If we find nothing here, our next course of action should be to return to the archives. Somewhere, there must be an indication of where to look next. We just can't see it."


	12. Chapter 12

Beware: the rating on this story was raised cause of this chapter. Nothing graphic, but the description is a little vivid.

- - - -

Someone was shaking his shoulder. Gabriel blinked away the haze of blurred images fighting through his mind, the heartsickness lifting as consciousness fully returned.

He sat upright, wincing at the cramp that seemed to extend from lower back all the way up to his neck. He'd fallen asleep while sitting at a table loaded to overflowing with parchments and old tomes. His head had rested on one of the books painstakingly copied by cloistered friars hundreds of years ago.

He shook the last twining arms of sleep from his thoughts, looking about the room. Dawning rays of the sun shone through the window, filtered by shelves. Dust swirled dreamily in the golden rays. Jinette moved to Carl, who was steadfastly refusing to wake and shift from the chair in which he had situated himself after their fruitless search of St. Linus' Church.

The two men had returned to the archives after the evening meal, glumly concluding that there was nothing to be found in St. Linus', and worriedly musing over the reason behind the razing of St. Augustine's. They had informed Jinette of their lack of progress, and had then retired to the archives to try to find something – anything – that might set them on the right trail. So far, they had found nothing.

Gabriel stood with a grimace, stretching a little to try to ease the complaining of disgruntled muscles. With a sound somewhere between a snuffle and a grunt, Carl turned to the side and blinked, yawning cavernously. Jinette stood back, his face curiously blank.

"Van Helsing, what – Cardinal!" Carl exclaimed, coming fully awake at last. He shot to his feet with a shock.

On the other site of the room, Gabriel turned from the window and smiled a little. Carl glared at him.

Jinette's curt voice cut through the playful tension in the room. "Come. There is something you must see." In a flurry of crimson cloth, Jinette turned to the door.

"Where are we going?" Gabriel inquired as they strode through the archives, headed toward the main egress from the Academy building.

"St. Augustine's. The fire has burned out." The cardinal's voice was entirely dispassionate. Exchanging a quick glance, Gabriel and Carl sped up until they were on Jinette's heels.

Van Helsing was surprised and concerned when Jinette, rather than assigning an inconspicuous guide to bring them to the ruins of St. Augustine's, merely swung on a cloak to cover his bright robes and continued out of the Holy City.

The smell of smoke and something else . . . the cloying, sick smell of burnt meat, grew stronger as they approached the blackened husk. The fire had burned fiercely, the heat cracking the stones as it consumed all the wood and cloth within the building. The walls that had not yet succumbed to their weakened state rose aimlessly towards the clouds, blackened with soot. Figures covered in ash moved carefully within the burnt-out shell, wary of the sudden collapse of the stones around them.

Carl covered his nose as they approached, eyes tearing as the wind blew the last of the smoke over the three men. Gabriel stiffened as he felt the taint lying thick upon the air. Knights of the Holy Order, men who had seen too much destruction and death in the past few days, were cleaning up. Carl gasped from behind his sleeve, "What is that-" he cut off abruptly as his question was answered. Three men, gently bearing a body wrapped in cloth, passed the trio. The body was respectfully placed on a wagon with four others, the old horse hitched to the cart stamping its hoof in distress at the scent of death. Carl swallowed hard.

Gabriel turned to Jinette. "What was it you wanted us to see?" he asked. The Cardinal would not risk attracting the creature's notice by bringing them here unnecessarily.

Jinette looked very old as he gazed at the ruins of the church, refusing to meet Van Helsing's gaze. "Come," he sighed wearily.

He led them through the piles of debris being sorted from the ruins, around stacks of rocks and burnt remnants of cloth, tapestry and hymnals. As they rounded a heap of wood no better than charcoal and ash, the steps of the church finally came into clear view – and with them, the reason for their presence at the site.

There was blood trickling down the steps of the church, mingling with puddles of water that had been used in a futile effort to slow the flames. Carl turned his eyes away from the source. Gabriel moved to the pallid corpse, crouching to dispassionately examine the man's remains. His body was not burned, a clear sign that he had been killed after the fire had been set, and he was covered in soot. The slightly plump form had been dropped carelessly on the shallow steps after the creature had slit the man's throat. Ash streaked across his face, and the light blue eyes were clouded over and staring blindly. Gabriel remembered the brown hair shot through with gray, though it was now obscured with dust and filth. The face, frozen in a mask of pain and fear, was familiar to him, and he sighed in resignation. He had half-expected this.

Jinette began to speak, his voice low. "Brother Yakov came to me after Piotr was revealed as the traitor. It seems that the betrayer had asked him for any records he might have concerning the death and burial of St. Longinus." Gabriel's head snapped round, and Carl stared at the friar in horror. Jinette looked to each man shortly before continuing. "Brother Yakov did not know of your mission at that time, and he told Piotr where the information was most likely to be kept. I did not think it relevant, since Piotr's true nature was already revealed. But this morning I learned that the books were taken from the archives."

Gabriel turned to the body and noticed for the first time that there were several parchments near the corpse, one partially underneath it. The hunter shifted the body, gently freeing the paper, which nearly disintegrated at his touch. It was soaked with water and blood, smudged with black sludge – ash mixed with water, and other liquids. "And they've been destroyed," the hunter murmured. Piotr had hindered their search in the most effective way possible, knowing that like himself they were dependent on old texts to reveal the past, and any clue hidden therein, to them.

Carl moved to Gabriel's right, picking up a sodden clump of paper that had once been a text. It was ruined now, half-burned, soaked and ripped. He glanced at the body, then forcibly pulled his eyes away, gazing at the useless tome in his hands. Bravery was needed to fight vampires, and the great forms of evil manifest on Earth; but it took another type of courage entirely to look in the face of death, cruelty and brutality – courage that was a mixture of valor and experience. Carl was far from a coward, but he could not look long on such a travesty as murder, no matter the victim was by his own choice their enemy. He could feel nothing but pity for Piotr.

Gabriel, on the other hand, was angry. He stared dispassionately at Piotr's body, then turned and rose, facing the Cardinal. "St. Augustine's Church housed the remains of St. Longinus," he said with certainty.

Jinette nodded. The lines in his face were carved deep with care, and he looked old and frail for the first time since either man had known him. "Yes," he murmured. He gazed at the ruined Church. "It was not spoken of, but a few of the greater families in Rome were aware that we sought to conceal his remains there, that he might rest in peace."

"The creature must have searched for clues in the books Piotr brought from the archives," Carl added. "It took time to uncover the location of the remains."

Which explained why Rome had been so devoid of any type of evil activity lately. "For all the good it did him," Gabriel said under his breath. "Nevertheless," he continued, loud enough for the others to hear, "the Spear did not rest with Longinus."

Jinette turned to look at him, surprised. "How do you know?"

Gabriel took several steps towards the Cardinal, mindful as ever of prying ears, intentional or not. Carl approached as well. "We would know," he said lowly. "The skies would rain fire, and the oceans would turn to steam. The land would be overrun with creatures of evil, and the innocent would perish. Earth would become a purgatory of torture for all humanity. And then-" he stopped.

"What?" asked Carl, voice wavering. Jinette's face was pale.

"It is better not to speak of it," Gabriel answered shortly, already cursing himself. The memories, and the knowledge that went with them, had caught him unexpectedly. But it was indeed better not to speak of the destruction of the Earth. It would simply cease to exist, not by the whim of evil but by divine will. The Father would not let his children suffer such if it was within his power to end it.

He glanced back at Piotr's body. "There is still time," he said quietly.

"But how much?" asked Jinette. The strain of increasing anxiety was taking its toll on the older man.

"It will have to be enough," Gabriel shook his head. He didn't really know.

"Come on," said Carl suddenly. "We must return to the archives. The answer is there, somewhere."

Gabriel agreed, and Jinette sighed. "I can only pray that we will be able to discover where the Spear lies before the creature does so."

The walk back to the church, ahead of a cart laden with the dead clergy from St. Augustine's, was grim and silent. Each man was immersed in his own thoughts, and Gabriel remained focused on the city around them. He knew the creature's scent now, and could sense emotion within the taint that wafted through the streets. Beelzebul was furious, his anger an almost palpable emotion that hung over Rome.

It was heavy, oppressing the people of the city. Gabriel could see some trace of it in the eyes of those that passed by on the street. The creature was becoming careless, and even the unsuspecting felt something unnatural in the air. Time was growing short.

Gabriel discovered how short when they returned to the Vatican, just after midday. They were greeted at the door to the Academy by a group of men headed by another face familiar to the hunter. It was the man he had heard conversing about him in the catacombs.

"Gaspar," Jinette said smoothly. "What is the meaning of this?"

The swarthy man, two fingers taller than Van Helsing, stared directly at the hunter as he answered the Head of the Order. "We have come to request that this man leave the Vatican, Cardinal." His words were respectful, but the demand was made quite clear by the harsh tone of his voice.

"What is the reason for this?"

"I am not the only one among the Knights of the Holy Order who believes that this . . . _man_ is the creature we seek," Gaspar spat. Gabriel's face hardened. Gaspar's red hair, legacy of his English heritage, was nearly matched in color by the hue burning in his cheeks. "His return brought with it the attack on Michael, the destruction of the catacomb laboratory, the deaths of many of the Order. He claims to have been attacked by the creature, and he was wounded unto death – but he stands before us now a mere five days after that same attack as whole and hale as you or I!"

Carl bristled indignantly. "Do you –"

"Be quiet, Carl!" Gabriel hissed.

Gaspar's eyes locked onto the hunter. "We will not condemn you without reason," he said grudgingly. "We would offer you a chance to explain these events."

Gabriel remained silent.

"Van Helsing!" Carl cried into the expectant hush.

Jinette cut in sharply, his voice a wheeze, "The hunter has no need to justify himself. It is _my _word that he is not the demon you believe him to be, Gaspar. Is that not enough?"

Directly challenged by his superior's flinty stare, Gaspar locked eyes for a moment before looking away. Jinette heaved a breath, and Carl gave the older man a worried glance. His face was chalk-white, his breath coming in harsh gasps. His right hand was clenching his upper left arm.

"Jinette?" Gabriel asked, sharp with sudden concern. Gaspar glared at him before turning his attention to the Cardinal.

"Cardinal?"

Without warning, the old man's eyes rolled up into his head, and he collapsed. A shocked Carl grabbed him in time to ease him to the floor, and Gabriel took two steps before his path was blocked by Gaspar.

"If you will not let me go, send for Father Taddeo," Gabriel snapped. "Now!"

Gaspar did not take his eyes from Gabriel's. "Lamar," he instructed. "Taddeo is needed, immediately!"

The man in question set off at a dead run, and two others went to help Carl with Jinette. The older man was breathing shallowly, lying limp on the flagstones of the entrance to the Academy. The rest of the men with Gaspar, over a dozen in all, surrounded their leader and Van Helsing. The hunter lowered his eyes, glancing over at Carl and Jinette, doing everything in his power not to escalate the situation. The men around him were nearly shaking from tension.

They remained in this frozen tableau for many minutes, until a group came rushing toward them. Lamar, a man of almost thirty years who had come to Rome from Jerusalem, was leading Taddeo, Luke and Santo. Within moments the Cardinal had been hustled from the floor onto a stretcher and was being carried to the infirmary.

Gabriel took a step to follow, and Gaspar grabbed him by the arm. With a swift movement, Gabriel pulled himself from the man's grip, and the wary circle of men around him tightened. "Do you doubt Jinette's word?" He was somewhat curious as to the answer. These men posed a danger to him simply because, whether or not they knew it, he would not attack or harm any of them. He was at a significant disadvantage if they decided to make good on their threat.

"I do not doubt that the Cardinal believed what he said," Gaspar responded without actually giving an answer. "However, I will not take the chance either of us is wrong."

Raising a brow, Gabriel watched as Gaspar turned and walked away, following Taddeo, and his charge. "Come on," directed Lamar, and the group, with Gabriel in the center, walked in silence to the infirmary.

It took many minutes, moving as they were, but they eventually reached the infirmary. The door was closed, but Gaspar knocked, and the door creaked open long enough for someone to determine who he was, before he was politely refused entrance. A few minutes later, Carl was also ejected from the sickroom. The friar made his way in silence to sit next to Gabriel, but as he attempted to breach the menacing circle, Lamar indicated to him that he should sit off to the side. Where the feisty friar would have argued, Gabriel shook his head, eyes hard. If these men were determined to think ill of him, he would not have Carl caught in the web of their hatred simply by associating with him. Although he doubted that in such educated, moral men, hate turned people into unreasonable animals. With a pang he remembered the man who was the little brother of his heart, before pushing that painful memory away.

The tension ratcheted higher as time passed, and Gabriel was hard-pressed to maintain his blank façade. None of the men around him bothered to hide their growing worry, murmuring quietly among themselves. After an interminable amount of time, the door opened soundlessly once more and a small figure stepped out of the hallway. Gabriel sat up in surprise, having not seen Michael since his recovery.

Gaspar rose and then crouched by the boy, with an ease which bespoke his experience with children. "Michael," he acknowledged in a quite different voice than any Gabriel had heard from him so far. He smiled and ruffled the boy's hair affectionately. Michael grinned and bore the teasing with good humor. "You are all rested up, _si_?" Gaspar inquired.

"_Si_," Michael responded, a moderate Spanish accent evident in his words as he spoke for the first time in Gabriel's hearing. "Taddeo told me to tell you that the Cardinal is ill, but he will recover. He needs to rest now, and he cannot see anyone for several days."

"That is good news," Gaspar sighed, smiling again as he rose to his full height. The child was unperturbed by the large man looming over him, and the sparkling brown eyes scanned all the men anxiously waiting in the highway. His eyes widened as they fell on Van Helsing, and the hunter held the young one's surprised gaze. The boy moved toward the hunter, and Gaspar placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Michael," he said, his tone a subtle warning, "What are you doing?"

With a little look back, Michael slipped out from under Gaspar's protective hand and walked to Van Helsing. Gabriel stood as the boy approached, and for a long moment each looked at the other.

"My name is Michael Cordero." Michael held out his hand. Gabriel extended his own arm, and the two gripped wrists, exchanging a warrior's handshake not unlike the one Carl and Gabriel had shared on their return to the Vatican. This was different. The small acknowledgement of two beings touched and scarred by evil lay easily between them.

"_Gracias, senor_," Michael breathed his thanks.

Gabriel smiled, the expression gentling the stony features and taking several of the men around him by surprise. The hunter so rarely smiled, rarely showed the depth of the humanity he tried so hard to hide. He was astonished that Michael remembered him, from seeing his face so briefly before passing out. "_De nada_," he answered lightly as they loosed hands. "_Mi llamo es Gabriel. Como estas, Michael?_"

"_Muy bueno, y tu?_"

"_Bueno, gracias_. Do you work with Taddeo now?" he asked softly, carefully switching languages. He sensed that the others would not take lightly to his conversing with the boy, especially if they couldn't understand what was being said.

The boy nodded eagerly. "It is very interesting." He seemed ready to expound at length, when Gaspar stepped forward.

"I think Taddeo will be looking for you, no?" he asked, smoothly entering the conversation.

Michael gave Gaspar a piercing look, and nodded with unexpected maturity. His face was solemn and adult-like for a sobering moment, before he smiled and waved cheerily at them, disappearing back into the infirmary. Gaspar leveled upon Gabriel an assessing stare. The hunter returned it in equal measure, and both men looked away at the same time as the atmosphere eased.

Around them, the men had broken off into quiet, relieved conversation. The dread and strain which had characterized their attitude before had been lifted, to reveal smiles of hope.

Lamar, who had been talking with several older men, was distracted from his conversation and approached Gaspar. "What are we going to do with him, then?" he asked lowly as he looked pointedly at the hunter.

Carl came up besides Gabriel, his expression intent.

Gaspar glanced at them before saying, "The wisest choice would be to imprison him until Jinette is well. Then we will decide what further action to take."

"You can't do that," Carl spoke up.

"Carl-"

Ignoring the hunter, Carl continued, his voice lowering as he approached the two men. "If you lock him away, then you will be eliminating the only real chance we have of defeating Beelzebul."

Gaspar's face paled at the name. Lamar, however, only looked confused and somewhat skeptical. "Beelzebul?"

"He is a minion of Lucifer," Gaspar retorted. He looked at Carl. "By God's name, you had better be speaking truth, or -"

"What reason do I have to lie? And would anyone in his right mind lie about something as dire as this?" Carl snapped back, loosing his patience.

Gaspar was deeply troubled, and he frowned at Lamar. "What would it take for the men to allow the hunter to remain free for a time?" he queried at last.

The middle-eastern man's face was unwontedly grave. "I do not believe they will be satisfied with anything less than a trial by ordeal," he answered. Carl's face went blank with shock at the implication, and Gabriel stiffened. He had ignored the warning signs for far too long, if it had come to this already. A 'trial by ordeal' was simply another phrase for torture, more popular during the Middle Ages and the American witch hunts than now, close to the turn of the twentieth century. Yet in rare cases it was still considered a viable practice for extracting the truth, even within the Church.

"You can't be serious!" Carl choked out.

Lamar looked at the friar, his eyes like chips of obsidian. "There are many who were uneasy with his presence after the defeat of Count Dracula," the dark-skinned man countered. "With recent . . . occurrences, that unease has become fear. Far more are afraid now than I think you can know."

"He speaks truly," Gabriel inserted himself into the momentary silence. "Perhaps we can reach a compromise. What if I was guarded by one of your men every day until the Cardinal is well? Let me come and go as I must, but do not leave me unattended? Would this satisfy your people until Jinette is recovered enough to take the situation in hand?"

Gaspar quirked his lips in thought before agreeing. "It is a good plan," he admitted.

Lamar frowned. "Will the others agree?"

Gaspar nodded grimly, red bangs flopping over his brow. "I intend to guard him myself."

"Then I will spell you."

"My thanks." Gaspar turned to address the others, and Gabriel felt panic twist for a moment as the other man spoke. If he revealed the creature's identity – but thankfully, Gaspar had more sense than that. He assured his men that the Cardinal would recover, and that Gabriel would be carefully watched at all times. The man's leadership skills were impressive, Carl had to admit, as he calmed the few raucous individuals with soothing words.

Minutes later the crowd dispersed, Lamar promising to take over from Gaspar at the evening meal, as it was not yet eleven in the morning. The swarthy man looked from the hunter to the friar with expectation.

Carl sighed. "It's back to the archives then."

- - - - - - - - -

Ok, time for a brief author's note. There is a reason this chap is 2X as long as the rest – the next two weeks are finals before winter session, so I'm hoping this'll rake in enough reviews to keep up my self-confidence until I can post again, after exams release me. (Yes, I'm a stranger to shame. This is me, begging for feedback!) I've thrown out a few tidbits that I get the feeling people (psst, Toto, here you go!) were looking for, and wait eagerly for all speculation about these little fragments. And I usually leave little hints hiding in the WIP in my bio, for the dedicated to ferret out.

And so the plot thickens . . .


	13. Chapter 13

"What, exactly, are we looking for?" Gaspar's tone was a novel blend of skepticism, doubt, and wariness. So far, he had taken his duty of guarding Van Helsing seriously, never allowing himself to be distracted or letting the hunter out of his sight.

Carl and Gabriel exchanged glances, a wealth of emotions passing between them; with irritation and resignation among the foremost. "Anything pertaining to St. Linus and his papacy," Carl started. The friar was laying out the manuscripts they'd already looked through, trying to bring some semblance of order to the chaos which encompassed the entire room. "Or the holy relics."

Gaspar watched him expressionlessly for a few moments, until his attention was drawn elsewhere. There was a soft knock on the door, which creaked open slightly. Carl glanced up as a small figure with a mop of brown hair edged through the door with a smile. Gabriel raised a brow in surprise.

"Michael?" asked Gaspar, recognizing the youth almost immediately. "What are you doing here?"

Michael gave him a small smile. "It comforted the Cardinal to know that I was assisting in your search," he said, peering out from under his thick bangs.

The older men exchanged understanding glances. Taddeo felt that the boy needed to get out of the infirmary, and this was the first step, giving him a sense of purpose.

"Thank you," Van Helsing said before Carl, who looked as if he might object, could respond.

Gaspar spoke quietly with the boy, explaining to him fully what they were doing to make up for being vague on why.

Gabriel smiled on seeing the two heads, one fiery bright and the other chocolate-brown, bent together in conversation. Michael was only recently arrived in Rome from his home in Ecuador, and had no family in Europe. Gaspar was doing his best to make the transition easy for the youth, who had left behind everything he knew at the tender age of nine on the base of his faith.

Pulling his gaze away from the touching scene, Gabriel headed off into the stacks. Moments later Gaspar was behind him, his presence a silent and menacing question. "Carl wants me to retrieve any papers dealing in the slightest with holy relics," he answered the unspoken query. Van Helsing glanced up at a shelf just barely within his reach and the book he needed on it. Quirking a brow, he asked the slightly taller man, "I don't suppose you'd be willing to lend a hand?"

At Gaspar's impassive stare, Gabriel cleared his throat in annoyance and then stretched high, groping for the text. He managed to tip the book out of the shelf and grasped it precariously with three fingers before it fell to the floor.

Upon returning to Carl, he saw a long list in the friar's hands.

"We need all those?" Gabriel asked, trying not to let any hint of wariness enter his tone.

"According to Brother Yakov." Carl did not look pleased. There were nearly fifty items on the list, all of which would have to be painstakingly examined for any reference they could use – the job could take days, and it was doubtful that they had that much time.

"What exactly did he put on the list?" Gabriel asked.

Carl's nose wrinkled in displeasure. "Apparently the good librarian keenly felt his part in Piotr's betrayal, and is seeking to make amends."

Gabriel groaned softly. "So –"

"He listed _everything_," Carl said wonderingly, but he sounded a bit appalled.

Michael slipped between the two men and peered at the list, before scurrying away into the shelves. Gabriel looked in the direction the boy had disappeared, and smiled a little.

Noting Gaspar's glare, however, he went to search for books in the opposite direction as Michael. Between the three of them, they managed to collect all the books on Brother Yakov's list, and a few more besides, under the space of an hour. Once they had settled, each man – including Gaspar – took a stack and began to work through it.

After nearly two hours of silence, Gabriel heard the noise of someone moving and glanced up. Michael was holding a piece of parchment in his hand, his face a portrait of contrition.

"What happened?" asked Gaspar. His book was upright in his lap, so that he could both peruse the lines and easily look up to check on both his charge and the hunter. Michael held out the paper silently. Gabriel had discovered that the boy rarely spoke, which made his earlier conversation with the young one that much more remarkable.

"I did not tear it," he said quietly. "It fell out of the book I was looking at."

"Which text?" asked Carl, coming to Gaspar's side. Gabriel set aside his own book to stand and move toward the three.

Michael returned to his seat and held up the book. Le Morte d'Arthur.

"The Death of Arthur?" asked Carl, puzzled.

"Arthurian legend mentions a quest for the Holy Grail," Gaspar said unexpectedly. "Brother Yakov probably thought of that when he added it to the list – after all, the Grail is the most well-known holy relic."

"So what is it?" asked Gabriel, gesturing to the piece of paper. Carl took it from Gaspar and carefully opened it. The paper was very old, thin and yellowed with age. "It's a letter from a knight to the Pope. It's written in Latin."

"Which knight?" Gabriel was curious. So too, it seemed, was Gaspar.

Carl scanned the bottom of the letter, trying to make out the signature. "I'm not sure," he said at last. "But the name looks like Parsifal."

Gabriel shrugged. The name meant nothing to him. But Gaspar, on the other hand, sat up straight. "Really?" he asked, appearing interested for the first time.

"I'm almost certain," Carl admitted. "But why? Does that mean something to you?"

Gaspar straightened up in his chair, deep voice speaking meditatively. "When I was a lad, my mother would tell stories to me and my brothers. Tales of Logres, of Camelot and Uther Pendragon, its noble king. She also told us the stories of the Grail, and Galahad. But there was another knight who was deemed worthy in the eyes of God – his name was Parsifal. I thought it was only stories."

"You were born in Britain?" asked Carl, curious. Gaspar nodded.

"'Deemed worthy'?" Gabriel hinged on the phrase.

Gaspar's voice cooled noticeably when speaking to the hunter, but he knew the seriousness of the situation. "To be a keeper of the Holy Relics of Logres."

Gabriel raised a brow. "What can we find out about Parsifal?" he asked. There was no harm in checking.

Carl shrugged. "There's probably a reference in here somewhere," he said, and the hunter nodded. For now, knowing that there was another possible connection to search for had fired them with hope, and they searched with renewed vigor.

Carl came across a connected piece of information not half an hour later. "Ah!"

Everyone in the room started. "Carl?" asked Gaspar.

The friar stood, excitement overflowing from him. "The works of Chretien de Troyes! 'Parsifal, an honorable and sinless knight, undertook a trial to determine his worthiness to succeed a godly king who was then dying.'"

"Arthur?" Gabriel interrupted.

Carl shrugged and kept going. "'Parsifal seated himself on the magic chair, which was a perilous undertaking; for anyone unworthy to be seated therein was immediately put to death. But Parsifal passed the test, and so was selected by God to be king and act as guardian for both the Holy Grail and the Spear of Longinus until his death'."

Carl's elated gaze met Gabriel's considering one. "Carl," the hunter began, "When would this have happened?"

The friar looked uneasy. "The dates for the existence of Logres are very subjective, when the entire idea is not all dismissed as just a myth," he said. "I don't know. But there's got to be some -"

Gaspar spoke up once more, surprising them all. "Here." He held up a text that he had gone to as soon as Uther Pendragon had been mentioned. "This is . . ." here his face twisted a little in humor, ". . . something of an analysis of the existence of King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table. It gives the dates around 450 to 700 AD."

"You seem to know quite a lot about this," Carl suddenly commented.

Gabriel shot him a surprised glance, and saw how Carl struggled to bury his suspicion. Piotr's betrayal had many unexpected consequences.

Gaspar's face remained impassive. "It's something of a hobby," he offered. Gabriel could see that Carl was not reassured by this pronouncement.

The hunter suddenly thought of something, and strode quickly to the table. The amount of books had been deemed too much for even this expansive surface, and the parchments and papers had spilled over to the floor under and around the table. "Van Helsing?"

The hunter squirmed out from under the table, coughing from the dust he had kicked up under layers of books.

"An Encyclopedia of Roman Rulers?" Carl managed to make the title of the book into a question. Gabriel got to his feet, ignoring Carl, Michael and Gaspar's questions.

Gabriel opened the cover and flipped quickly through until he came to the pertinent entry. "It fits," he said, somewhat surprised. He showed Carl.

_Justinian 527-565 AD_

"What else?" The friar was very excited.

Gabriel read on, and was silent for a long time. He frowned.

"Well?" Carl pressed.

When he raised his eyes, Van Helsing said quietly, "Apparently after the Spear was lost by Justinian, it somehow made its way to Logres."

Carl studied the hunter's closed face. "Was there a clue in there as to how the Spear became tainted?"

Gabriel didn't respond, which was answer enough in itself. At last he said lowly, "Justinian's rule was a time rife with war, when he tried to revive the glory of the old Rome. Much happened in the end of his reign that was beyond his control, for he was distracted and loosing his grip on both health and sanity. Suffice to say, I have my suspicions about what may have occurred."

Carl, noting the frozen mask of Gabriel's features, tabled that argument for later.

Gaspar spoke, and Carl and Gabriel started. They had quite forgotten his presence. "How does this help us find the Spear?"

Gabriel turned to his guard and said, "I don't know."

Carl picked up the letter once more. "I'll translate this," he offered. "It may tell us something useful."

It took half an hour, as the letter was both the front and back of a delicate paper. While Carl recopied the letter, and then translated it, Gabriel, Michael and Gaspar continued to look through their respective piles of books. When the soft scratching of Carl's pencil ceased it drew the attention of the three others in the room.

But instead of elation, Carl's face was indicative of bemusement. "I've finished," he said unnecessarily. Without needing any prompting, he cleared his throat and began. "'_To the Holy Roman Emperor, Tiberius II Constantine, in the Year of Our Lord 582.'_ Then he goes on to offer his best wishes for health, and comments some on the occurrences in Britain, and news he has received from the doings in the South. Ah – here – '_I am sending this missive in regards to a matter of great importance. In my time as ruler, I have come into the possession of several most holy objects. I believe you know that of which I speak – the Chalice and the Spear. I fear my life is drawing to a close, and as yet no successor has appeared who is able to pass the divine ordeal. There is none worthy in my kingdom to take up guardianship of these sacred items, and I fear that they will fall into the hands of those unworthy of their care. I write to beg you to take these items into your possession, and offer them such protection as you are able, in that most holy and protected place on God's earth. Should you allow me, I shall bring these to you myself to ensure their safety, and see the last of my days pass in the stronghold of my faith.'_"

Carl stopped, and Gabriel shifted slightly as he rifled through the pages in the Encyclopedia. "It's dated late in the year 582," the hunter commented. "By the time this letter reached Rome, Tiberius had succumbed to his own ill-health and Maurice had come to power. It was a turbulent time." Van Helsing's mind was far away as he read, memories coming thick and fast. "The empire was threatened on three fronts, despite Maurice's successful campaigns against the Persians. The state was bankrupt, as well. Tiberius didn't manage much in the four years he ruled – he only came into power after Justin II suffered a breakdown over the Persian invasion of Syria. Justinian's influence stretched for many years after his death." Gabriel's voice was grim.

Carl coughed, and Gabriel blinked, pulling himself from his fugue. "Maurice managed to keep the Empire together, but there was considerable confusion and conflict. It would be a dangerous time to travel such a distance."

Carl's eyes returned to the map he had marked roughly a week and a half ago, when their search had first begun. Gabriel and Gaspar's eyes followed his movements. "What are the odds that the Spear even made it to Rome?" Gabriel asked, eyeing the many locations the creature had visited in pursuit of the Spear.

Carl, understanding his meaning, paled slightly.

Gaspar frowned. "But the letter –"

"If Parsifal died during the journey, the Spear might have been brought to any of these locations by the knights in his escort," Gabriel sighed, leaning against the edge of the table. "Several of these places only held the Spear in myth, certainly, but it's near-impossible to determine how long it took for the Spear to return to Rome." The hunter shrugged. "Even if Parsifal made it alive to the Vatican, with the Spear and Chalice still in his possession, there's no telling what happened to it then, and no chance that such a dangerous object was even spoken of. The risks that lay in actually writing down where it rested . . . " Piotr's betrayal was fresh in everyone's minds.

Carl heaved a sigh. "So there's no chance of tracing the Spear's journey back to Rome through Parsifal," he said morosely.

Gabriel shook his head, scowling. "Even if it looked promising, we don't have the time."

"What about that symbol?" came an unexpected voice in the grim silence following this statement.

Gaspar frowned, thinking. "Which one?" he asked Michael.

Carl answered instead. "The sigil of St. Linus." The friar rubbed his head. "There are so many threads on this trail, it's near-impossible to determine which lead where, and how."

Gabriel shrugged. "The history of the Spear of Destiny is a convoluted enigma." He shook his head, returning to the matter at hand. "What do we actually know about Linus?"

Carl grunted. "Well, not much I'm afraid. The records fall just short of the beginning of the papacy in Rome, and all I can tell is that he began using the sigil as a signature and seal in 67 AD, which is assumed to be the very beginning of his time as pope. It started showing up in letters and formal documents about April of that year, and -"

"67 AD?" Gabriel asked, mind racing to compute the numbers.

"Yes. Why, is something wrong?"

"The date," Gabriel responded, feeling his confidence surge as the memories became clearer. "The date is wrong. Linus didn't come into the papacy until October of 68. He would have still be serving as adjutant to -"

"How do you know that?" asked Gaspar warily.

The two friends ignored him. Carl's eyes widened. "That would mean the sigil hearkened back to _Peter's_ papacy, not that of his student."

"Carl, is it possible that we're looking in the wrong place?" The friar nodded, eyes sparking with the thrill of discovery. "Where would be the most protected place to put the most dangerous holy relic on Earth, even within Vatican City itself?"

Understanding hit the two of them at nearly the same time. Carl whispered, "St. Peter's Basilica."

- - - - - - - - -

Right, I said I wouldn't be posting for a bit. I did some research, and got on a roll, and then . . .couldn't stop. Thanks to all my caring reviewers for their comments, encouragement and well-wishing for my exams; this is early because of you! Enjoy!


	14. Chapter 14

The Basilica, heart of Vatican City.

Gabriel only rarely went into the ornate construction. Far from humbling him before the might of God, as it was no doubt intended, he was instead awed by the contradiction between mortal skill and shortcoming. The lifelike, yet larger-than-life statues of biblical figures provoked more contemplation than reverence within him. He was always taken by the skillful imaginings of Michelangelo playing out on the ceiling above him, the images of God and all that was most decidedly beyond humanity rendered alive as mortals understood it. The artist's vision was a thing of wonder and the end result was elaborate magnificence in honor of the Father.

But as for the Basilica, Gabriel seldom entered the building that the four were rushing towards. Occasionally, when he returned from a mission, he would contact Jinette and enter the catacombs from the Basilica's confessional entrance, but more often he would use a more discreet entryway.

Wrenched out of his contemplations, the slight smile disappeared from his lips. There was something in the air – a familiar taint that made all his senses hyper-alert. His face twisted, and he sucked in a silent breath as his legs froze, for only a moment, before resuming their quick pace.

"What? What is it?" asked Gaspar warily. The man had been following the hunter, and was the first to notice that something was wrong. Gabriel immediately wiped all expression from his face, though the taint riding the air inside the hall had been like a slap in the face.

Carl, walking ahead with Michael, looked over his shoulder and saw the delay.

"Van Helsing?" The friar was clearly impatient. Gabriel continued to walk at a brisk pace, but he was concentrated more on stealth than haste now.

"There's something -" Michael's uneasy expression caught Gabriel's eye. "Michael?"

The boy shrugged, flushing as all three men looked at him.

Gaspar, not understanding the significance, asked somewhat tersely, "Well?"

Only just resisting rolling his eyes, Gabriel responded, "It's nothing. Let's go."

Carl understood, however, and their speed slowed in favor of caution.

The feeling grew stronger as they wound their way through the Apostolic Palace toward the Sistine Chapel, and the Basilica.

Gabriel, however, was the only one affected. Michael looked somewhat disconcerted, and the hunter noted that the boy had probably sensed, on a subconscious level, the evil layering the air around them. It was so thick that they could not avoid breathing it, and Gabriel coughed.

"Van Helsing?" Carl asked once more.

The hunter wrinkled his nose in disgust and said grimly, "Let's go, Carl."

The stigmata of evil only increased in strength as they walked on, and turning the final corridor leading out to the chapel entrance was a trial of endurance for the hunter. He rounded the stone and took a deep breath as it hit him full-force. "Stop a moment," he called to the two rushing ahead. His focus on the chapel doors ahead, he disregarded the others as Carl's voice, and that of Gaspar, floated past him, a world away.

Michael's eyes were huge, and the boy was fidgeting, looking as if he wanted nothing more than to be able to run in the opposite direction.

But they had to go straight through the storm to reach the Basilica, and Gabriel knew that in the meantime, he had to seal off the source before it overtook the many protections of the Holy City.

Striding to the chapel, ignoring Carl's nervous comments and Gaspar's demands to know what was going on, the hunter moved straight to the double-doors where the taint was strongest. He steeled himself for what lay on the other side, and then quickly threw open the doors. The only sign of the overpowering menace that permeated the very air was seen in the pallor of his shuttered features.

He froze for a long moment, and then slowly walked into the church. The empty room was overcome, drenched in the puissant force of evil. He took his time, assessing the room.

"Gabriel?" The friar reached out, clamping a hand on his shoulder. Immediately he shuddered back, and Gabriel shrugged, aware of their audience. "What is it?"

"Nothing Father Anthony can't fix," Gabriel returned slowly. There was nothing to be done, at least not now, but he could bind the influence from spreading beyond this room, if he worked quickly.

The hunter turned back to the doors and closed them, resting his hand on the wood for a moment.

In that moment, he reached both within and without to find the true essence of himself, something he had been striving for since he had first seen the creature. His eyes focused on something far distant as he stretched, grasping for a moment his own ultimate nature.

It wanted to burst out of him, wanted to shine through his skin and the implacable power of it was enough to burn away the sight of anyone watching. With a surprised burst of energy, he wrestled it back down, down and away from the mortals around him, conscious of their fragile vulnerability.

But that one moment was enough. He removed his hand from the wood, knowing that mere seconds had passed. Gabriel shook his hand as it fell back to his side, wiggling his fingers slightly. Just as Beelzebul had left his own mark within the chapel, so Gabriel had soaked the entranceway, key to all the binding powers of the room, in his own essence.

"We will have to monitor this place closely," Gabriel murmured, turning from the now sealed doors.

Gaspar frowned. "I felt nothing," he huffed warily, eyeing the doors with an air of cautious curiosity.

Surprisingly, it was Michael who spoke up. "There is something – not right," he stammered. "The _iglesia_ is -" He seemed to struggle for the proper word.

"Tainted," Carl filled in grimly. "The church is tainted."

"What are we going to do about it?" Gaspar demanded, eyes wide under the shock of vibrantly orange hair.

"Nothing," Gabriel cut in stridently, daring his keeper to challenge him. "We have something more important to tend to – this must wait."

The four were frozen in a moment of indecision, individual thoughts and beliefs pulling at them. Reluctantly, Gaspar nodded and they made their way out of the maelstrom of malice that enveloped the chapel, the noise of scuffing feet growing louder as the echoes were thrown back at them in the ever-larger rooms.

The Basilica itself was a decent distance from the chapel, and it was with a silent sigh of relief that Gabriel felt the oppressive wave of evil vanish, as yet unable to come near the heart of Vatican City.

The four men stopped just inside the side entrance to the Basilica, eyeing the uncommonly-empty hall.

Michael looked up at Carl. "How are we going to find it?"

Gabriel could see the younger boy's point. The Basilica was the largest, most elaborate structure dedicated to Christianity in the whole of the world. It was massive, of a scale hundreds of times beyond that of St. Linus', and they had needed a good deal of help just to begin the search of that church.

Gabriel missed Carl's response. He was concentrating on a noise almost outside the range of his hearing. He took several steps forward, and it grew stronger. It was a very high, somewhat melodic hum that buzzed through his thoughts.

Several more steps, and the noise was stronger, a little louder, though not by much.

"Van Helsing," Gaspar snapped ungraciously.

The hunter didn't hear – in fact, he was making his way directly to the altar. It was an elevated dais surmounted by bronze pillars, capped with a small cupola. Carl followed the taller man without question, leaving Gaspar to pull his temper under control and bring up the rear.

Within moments, Gabriel had been unerringly drawn to the altar, moving behind it to the bronze pillar on the right. He ran his hands over the cool metal, the buzzing now vibrating just under his skin, an electrifying hum that tingled over his body.

"Here," he breathed, hands in constant, fluttering motion over the skin of metal that separated them from the object of their search. "It's _in_ the pillar."

"How do you know that?"

"Are you sure?"

Gabriel answered Carl, taking a step back to let the friar get a closer look. "I'm sure."

Gaspar growled his frustration, but Michael was the only one who paid him any heed. Gabriel watched curiously as Carl muttered to himself, touching the pillar absently. He started up as far as he could reach, pressing on the metal, moving meticulously down the bronze, tarnished by the ages.

"There must be – well, I'm sure that there's . . . but of course it wouldn't . . . aha!"

"You've found something?" Gaspar asked skeptically, eyeing the robed form crouched at the base of the bronze column.

"I think so," Carl muttered excitedly. "Look, just here." He indicated several raised, ornamental rivets at the foot of the pillar. "Some of these are functional rivets, but there are others that depress when you touch them. See?"

Demonstrating, Carl pressed three ornamental rivets at once. There was a slight grinding noise, but nothing happened. Gaspar stared at the column. "What happened?" he hissed warily.

"Nothing, so far as I can tell," Carl frowned, but turned as he noted something move in the corner of his vision.

Gabriel squatted on his haunches, reaching down to run his fingers carefully over the rivets in the foot of another column. "Carl," he called. "Some of these move as well."

Carl stared at him, and then looked at each one of the columns in turn. "It's a lock!" he howled triumphantly. "A combination lock. The Spear may be inside one of these pillars, but it would be impossible for any one person to reach it. It would need to be a group."

"And therein lies the trap," Gabriel nodded in agreement as he rose to his feet.

"What?" the friar was somewhat puzzled as to the logic behind the last reasoning.

"The Spear is a tainted relic," the hunter explained, looking at each one of them in turn. "Unless the one who claimed it was of the cloth, or otherwise dedicated to God, any group that tried to retrieve it would be overcome by the 'dark evil quality' the scholars spoke of. Greed, mistrust and perfidy would prevent them from being able to work together and remove it from its resting place."

Gaspar frowned at that last. "Should we really remove it?" he finally ventured. "If it is as dangerous as you say, is it not better protected here, at the most sacred heart of the Vatican?"

Gabriel shook his head. "Sooner or later, the creature _will_ come." The hunter's face was drawn and grim. "When he does, when he finally is able to enter the Basilica, there will be no safe harbor for good in this world. He will rip the Spear from its long sleep and turn it on the unknowing innocents outside the gates of Vatican City. If we remove it, he must come for it, to a time and place of our choosing."

The four looked at one another. Michael's eyes were wide with fear, and Carl smiled tightly at him. Gabriel glanced toward the altar, his expression forbidding, and Gaspar forced his face into something resembling a smile. It looked more like a grimace of pain. "I guess we have no choice," he said at last.

"Alright then," Carl said briskly. "Each of you take a column, and see how many of the rivets are needed for each. We'll try them all at once, and in sequence, to see if we can come up with something."

The four scattered, each to a different pillar. "Ten here," Carl called.

"Ten!" Gaspar added.

"_Diez_," Michael responded. "Ten."

"Ten." Gabriel was the last. "Forty total, then." The significance was lost on no one in the room – forty was a symbolic number, appearing in the Bible many times.

"All at once, then. On three!" Carl raised his voice, to be certain they could all hear him. He counted, and they pressed all the rivets. There was a grinding noise of gears shifting above them, seeming to come from within the pillars and cupola, but nothing happened. "Check!" Carl called. "Make sure all the rivets are down completely."

Gaspar glanced over and noticed that Michael, with his smaller hands, was having trouble reaching and fully depressing each rivet. "Let's try again?" he offered, flicking his eyes to from Carl to the boy to be certain the friar understood him. "Perhaps the gears are just old and need to be oiled."

"Again, then. One, two, _three!_"

There was no noise this time, no indication of anything having happened – yet in the pillar above Gabriel, a small panel, seamlessly blended into the column, slipped sideways, revealing a small cubbyhole within the bronze construction. Standing, the hunter found himself looking within, at the object that had caused them so much grief.

He carefully reached in, grasped the Spear, and pulled it out. The panel slid back into place with a small _snikt_, just as he withdrew his hand.

He eyed the pillar, searching for the compartment he knew was there, running his fingers over the metal, searching for the tell-tale outlines of the panel's edges. Anything to keep his mind off the dark, siren call of the object in his hand.

He found nothing, and finally forced his attention to the Spear as the others slowly approached.

Despite the elaborate description some deemed worthy of a holy relic, the spear was plain. Longinus had been one centurion from many, his equipment serviceable, rather than ornate. The spearhead was old, rusted iron, with a nail of the same dangling from a hole at the base of the spearhead. The shaft had long since rotted to dust.

"That's it?" Carl asked, overcome with disappointment.

Gabriel's lips twitched in amusement. "That's it."

- - - - - - - - - -

Ok, so, to kick off the new semester, here's a fat chap for you. It may be a while until the next one, but as always, see my bio for further (and sometimes more updated) info.


	15. Chapter 15

The first thought in Carl's mind was that, for a holy relic and dangerous weapon tainted by the forces of darkness, the thing looked like Van Helsing had pulled it out of a rubbish heap. "You're sure?" he questioned, dubiously eyeing the rust-encrusted object.

Gabriel raised a brow, glancing at him, and Gaspar snorted. "What else could it be?" the older friar demanded pettishly.

Taking in their surroundings, Carl grudgingly admitted, "Good point."

"This is it," Gabriel said, and there was a strange containment to his tone. He was holding the object as far from his body as possible without drawing undue attention to himself, and there was a tiny line between his brows as he studied the Spear. Carefully, he turned it over in his hand, and started.

"What?" Carl jumped in almost nervously, nearly desperate for some noise to break the unnatural silence.

Gabriel lifted a hand, showing them a thin line of red scored across his skin. "It's razor-sharp," he muttered in a surprised undertone. "I wouldn't expect a blade no one's handled in hundreds of years to still carry such an edge."

"Well, it is a holy relic," Carl pointed out, glancing down to see how the youngest member of their group was dealing with this revelation. The boy was quiet, wide eyes fixed on the Spear.

"Yes, and it is tainted," Gabriel added grimly. Hazel eyes were hard, staring at the innocuous-looking piece of metal.

Gaspar harrumphed impatiently, and Carl could see that he was just as unnerved by the silence as all of them – with the exception of Van Helsing – seemed to be. "You said that the creature would come to us," he reminded the hunter.

A smile quirked Gabriel's lips. "Well I didn't mean right this moment," he replied reasonably, straightening from his slight examination of the blade. He ignored Gaspar's frustrated glare, keeping his eyes focused on the Spear. "The Spear is still within the Basilica, and thus is still subject to the protections laid on it. Until we remove it from here, into any other part of the Holy City, it will be protected. Should it pass these doors, all veils protecting it from Beelzebul's sight will be peeled away." Raising his palm, Van Helsing regarded the cut there, flexing his fingers as he continued speaking. "I suggest that we decide, now, what we want to do and how soon we need to bring the creature here."

"Now?" Gaspar was surprised.

Van Helsing frowned at his hand, before glancing up, scowl still in place. "Jinette is indisposed," he coolly reminded Gaspar. "And may remain so for a good time. Your men are calling for my imprisonment, and while the creature remains free no one – least of all the very people he believes have knowledge of the Destiny – are safe. In addition, there is the taint on the chapel which grows stronger with each passing hour. No, we have very little time, and less to delay. We need to decide quickly what is to be done."

Carl gulped noisily at hearing the true state of affairs laid bare. "How much time _do_ we have?"

Van Helsing shook his head. "Three hours, maybe."

"Why do we always have to cut these things so close?" Carl asked the heavens.

The smile Gabriel shot him was terse, and Gaspar frowned between the two of them before dismissing their byplay and moving on. "We need to apprise my men of the situation," he asserted.

Gabriel jerked, staring at him. "You're going to tell the entire Order what's going on?"

Gaspar glowered at the incredulity in his voice. "You would keep them in the dark about something as vital as this?"

"What assurance can you give me that word will not reach the entirety of the Order and start a panic?" the hunter snapped, eyes flashing with emotion.

Gaspar drew himself up to his full height, staring down at the hunter. "You underestimate us," he warned softly.

Gabriel stared at him, the weight of ages in his eyes. "I know humanity," he gently qualified. "I know the heights to which courage can reach – but I do not think it will stretch even this far."

"We will be there," Gaspar insisted levelly. "To give assistance, to do anything we can."

Gabriel barked out a harsh laugh. "The only thing you would be able to do is die." Gaspar's chest expanded as he drew in a furious breath, but Gabriel closed his eyes and shook his head, raising a hand to halt the impending explosion. "Do as you will. We have other matters to attend."

For a moment, Carl was sure Gaspar would continue regardless, but the man surprised him when he expelled his breath with nary a snarl, and nodded resolutely. "Where do you think to lure the creature?"

Gabriel frowned. "The chapel is the only truly safe place," he murmured, and Carl frowned.

"I thought you said it was overrun with the taint," he objected, glancing down at the Spear.

Gabriel shook his head. "Should worse come to worst, the Basilica will be the safest, the longest protected. It will be the last to fall. I want all the women and children in the Holy City to gather here. Father Taddeo and Jinette will lead them in mass."

"But – why the chapel?" Carl asked forthrightly once more.

Gabriel shot him a look. "The creature already has entrance there. If he is not called to enter any other part of the Holy City, we will be able to keep the greater part of the Vatican free of his presence, and thus the protections on the whole will be stronger. And the taint there may hide, for a short time at least, a bit of the Spear itself."

Carl frowned, leaving off his study of the relic to look at the hunter. "How so?"

"While in the Basilica, the Spear is layered with protections that hide its true nature," Gabriel explained patiently. "In the chapel, it will be surrounded by an aura that is a pale imitation of its essence. Think of it as, not hiding a needle in a haystack, but hiding a particular needle in a pincushion with a hundred others."

Carl nodded his understanding, and then looked to Gaspar. "How long will it take you to gather your men and evacuate the women and children here?" he asked, his logical mind running the numbers.

"We have three hours," Gaspar replied with a shrug. "It will be enough."

"Michael," Gabriel said, drawing their attention to the young boy staring wide-eyed at them. He looked the youth straight in the eyes and gently continued, "I need you to go to the tower, and tell the men there to ring the emergency signal. They'll know what you mean."

Carl's eyes widened, but he nodded his agreement, as did Gaspar. The specific sequence of chimes rung from St. Peter's would alert all in the Holy City to gather there. It was a signal that hadn't been used in several centuries, but there was no one in the Holy City who wouldn't recognize the distinctive bell pattern. "Gaspar, wait at the door and separate your men, and any others who feel they must come. Remember to leave some here to assist the women and children."

Gaspar nodded impatiently, not needing to be told how to divide up his men. "Where will you be?" he asked.

"I'll wait here until the first evacuees arrive," Gabriel said. "Then, I'll leave and make my way to the chapel. I'll wait there for you."

"Won't ringing the bells alert the creature that something has happened?" Carl ventured.

Gabriel shrugged. "Regardless, it's the fastest way to gather everyone in a protected location."

"Alright," the auburn-haired man sighed.

"Michael, go quickly," Gaspar instructed, and the boy ran off, feet slapping against the floor.

Gabriel slid the Spear into an inner pocket, wincing as the object came in closer proximity to his skin. He shifted his shoulders, settling the long coat more comfortably before nodding to Carl and Gaspar. The two men moved to the main entrance, and the three waited, spread out in the massive church, listening to the silence.

It seemed a very long time before the first resounding clang echoed through the buttresses, ringing out over Vatican City. The emergency cadence of bells, three staccato chimes followed by two deeper, drawn out tones told a disturbing message that could not be ignored. The pattern repeated itself, over and over, and within minutes people began trickling into the Basilica, abandoning their afternoon's work. Gabriel caught Carl's eyes, and moved toward a side entrance before the slight flood of people became a deluge.

Carl inched his way to Gaspar's side, and under his breath he hissed that he was following Van Helsing, and that they should come as soon as possible. Gaspar nodded, not once breaking off his conversation with Lamar, who turned curious, far-too-perceptive eyes on the friar. Carl slid away into the gathering throng, guiding worried residents of the Holy City toward the pews. As he surreptitiously made his way to a small side door, he found Father Taddeo, Luke, Santo, and Marius escorting Jinette and Father Anthony, both of whom were pale and sweating. While Jinette looked haggard, Anthony appeared vaguely ill, and Carl nodded to the man whose primary function within the Order was that of an exorcist. He spoke for only a few moments with Jinette, informing him of the situation and attempting to allay any worries. It was a futile attempt, but both he and the Cardinal felt better for trying.

Carl extracted himself from the conversation soon after, and turned towards the tainted chapel where already so many things had happened. In opposition to the earlier silence, the halls around the Basilica were abuzz with controlled confusion. Time seemed to be slipping away faster with each passing minute, and Carl politely shoved his way through the hordes of people coming inside. Catching a wayward remark as he passed by one of the last crowds, he turned quickly to the nearest window and peered out, finding the nameless speaker to be correct. The sky was indeed darkening, with frightening speed. The bells continued to toll out their warning, overlying the ominous roll of thunder in the distance.

With a sardonic frown, Carl strode quickly through the halls, relieved to find them completely bereft of human presence the farther he got from the Basilica. By the time he reached the chapel doors, the lack of any sign of life was downright eerie, and he burst quickly into the chapel.

Only to pull up immediately, freezing in place.

Gabriel rose out of his defensive crouch, and raised a brow at the distraught friar. "Quite an entrance," he huffed, straightening his spine.

"Jumpy?" Carl asked, moving toward the hunter's position at the front of the chapel.

Van Helsing shook his head. "I would sense the creature's presence. I'm more worried about Gaspar and his -"

He was cut off by the bang of the chapel doors being thrown open. "Speak of the devil," Carl murmured, paling as he realized the implications of his thoughtless remark. He shot Gabriel a contrite look, and the other rolled his eyes.

The fiery haired friar marched into the chapel, at the head of what looked like nearly every able-bodied member of the Order.

"Oh my God," Carl breathed. "Did you leave _anyone_ with the women and children?"

Gaspar sneered at him. "Of course," he spat. "There were twenty-five more who wanted to come but were refused."

They were all here to ascertain which side, truly, the hunter was on, Carl realized with a shock of indignation. Their presence here was perhaps to prevent Van Helsing from simply handing the spear over, though what they thought they might actually be able to accomplish was a little unclear.

"Then I suggest that you have your men move back against the walls, out of the way," Gabriel advised. There was something in his voice that Carl had never heard, in all the years he had known Van Helsing. The burden of wisdom, the price of knowledge shone through in his entire stance, and for once, he was not bothering to hide it. Something about him seemed ancient, unchanged since the beginning of time; and Carl knew that he was now seeing the being who had lived for eons under the title of Destroyer, one of the sons of God. Mortality was truly only a veneer for him.

Without a word, Gaspar indicated to his men that they should line the walls, and they were packed shoulder to shoulder against the stone. Distance from the confrontation would be their only salvation.

Carl stopped before moving with them. "Gabriel?" he asked, using the hunter's true name.

The face that turned to him was an impassive visage that softened with recognition. "Yes?"

Carl silently strove for words, speechless for a moment. "God be with you," he managed, and the hunter gave him an amused smile.

"Perhaps," he said finally, andthe quixotic responsewas not quite what Carl wanted to hear. Gabriel grasped his shoulder and squeezed gently, trying to convey a modicum of reassurance. "Go in peace." The benediction was somehow fitting, both comforting and familiar.

Carl nodded tightly, dredging up a smile, but it was genuine enough for both of them to feel that perhaps, everything would turn out alright.

Carl had barely taken his place against the wall, pressed up next to Gaspar, when the hunter froze. A small hand crept into Carl's and he looked down to find, to his horror, that Michael had come with the men from the Basilica. With a feeling of dread banishing his calm, Carl knew that there was nothing to be done about it now.

Gabriel turned slowly from his contemplation of the crucifix above the altar, to stand facing the doors.

After a few moments, steps could be clearly heard outside the chapel. Carl could somehow feel the taint oppressing the air around them, and realized that, as close as they were, the men of the Order were touching enough to form a chain. The sensation of something _not right_, something evil, swept through the group.The door swung open with deceptive gentleness, and the creature dressed in white appeared.

-

((( I swear to you that I don't do this on purpose. I had intended to have that one scene we're all waiting for – yup, you know it – in this chapter, but my characters stoutly refused to let me skim over the details. So, unfortunately, it's not here. It wouldn't fit. But I can promise, if the number of reviews for this chap exceeds the number for ch.14, that it'll be up next weekend at the very latest. (and no, I'm not above extortion or blackmail when it comes to getting a response. I'll take anything, but commentaries are good. Yup, I'm greedy. Also, a stranger to shame. Hit the button!) )))


	16. Chapter 16

Carl trembled from the force of the evil he was feeling, reflected and spread among all the men of the Order. There was no doubt now, that this was the being that had hunted them, pursuing the Spear; horror and realization reflected in the eyes of men round the room, and Carl steeled his features.

The creature took its time, gazing languidly around the room, its malicious gaze lighting ever so briefly on each man, chilling them to the bone and freezing the blood in their veins. The fact that it wore a facsimile of humanity made it all the more awful, and Carl shivered, gripping Michael's hand tightly. The small fingers were cold, the little body pressed against his leg quivering.

Then, it opened a red mouth and laughed. The sound rolled through the room, growing as it echoed, swelling into a cacophonous chorus that reverberated through the souls of the mortals pushing themselves against the walls. But it was even worse when the creature trailed off and began to speak.

Hissing sibilants and howled vowels, in a language never meant for mortal hearing, was virulently spat out by the thing, aimed as a weapon toward them. Carl was not the only one whose face wrenched in agony at the sound, and was only one of many who doubled over, clutching their ears in a futile attempt to block the horrendous noise. It was no use – the evil sound slithered into their minds, beating at their spirits with a terrible power.

One word, as alien as the rest, cut through the chaos of sound as if it didn't exist, in that moment erasing it from existence. This word was eerily similar to the ones the creature had hurled at them, but carried with it a force of goodness and healing that straightened the men's spines and brought tears of gladness to their eyes.

Blinking his vision clear, Carl leant against the stone behind him, mindlessly stroking Michael's hand as the boy shook beside him. Gaspar was panting harshly at his other side, and the eyes of all observers were riveted to the scene unfolding in front of them.

The creature stomped forward several paces, speaking once more. This time, the words were aimed at Van Helsing, and those watching felt only the edge of the malice. The hunter responded, words of calmness and peace flowing gracefully from him, bolstering the mortals in the room.

The pleasant river of sound was abruptly cut off by a snarl, and the creature launched itself forward.

Before Carl actually realized what he was seeing, the battle was joined. The two figures moved with unmatched speed, darting and dodging in a silent, lethal dance of terrifying beauty. The illusion was shattered when the hunter landed the first blow, and the creature was hurled back, on its feet almost immediately with renewed ferocity.

Back and forth they grappled, engaging and retreating, circling warily, only to return to the offensive once more. They traded strike for blow, evenly matched in strength and skill. Pews were crushed, obliterated by the power of their blows, bodies being thrown through the wood with pulverizing force. It was eerily silent. The combatants' feet made no noise against the slick stone, and the expected sound of ragged breathing was disconcertingly absent. The only noise was that of flesh impacting flesh, and sometimes wood or stone.

Both men were bloodied now, cuts and bruises ignored as each remained warily focused on the other. The creature shot forward with shocking speed, a roar tearing past its lips, and Gabriel twisted away from the onslaught, turning his evasion into a motion that threw the creature past him and onto the raised dais behind him.

The sturdy altar was swept from the dais, and there was a moment of respite for the hunter, who waited for the creature to pick himself up from the debris of heavy stone and twisted metal. He was breathing hard – and the white-clad man smirked at the sight, not even winded. The brief victory was turned into something more, in that moment before they rejoined the fight; a visceral test of wills, the two beings staring intently at one another with thought for nothing but battle.

Gabriel climbed the few stairs to the platform, and they continued to lock gazes, until some hidden signal had them simultaneously charging to clash into the most violent confrontation yet. Close-quarters, they grappled, ripping and tearing. Blood flowed, the sharp crack of breaking bone split the air. A silent concussion blasted the room, power sweeping outwards from the struggle at its center. The men of the Order were pressed hard against the stone walls, and the floor trembled beneath them.

The two forms on the raised dais were still. The one on top, still robed in white but dripping crimson gore, lifted itself from the still body underneath. The awful laugh once more drove through the air, but it was not enough to force them to the ground. The horror before their eyes kept the men transfixed, kept them on their knees. The creature raised clawed hands to the sky, roaring out its defiance, laughing as it looked at the motionless, bloodied form.

Carl struggled to his feet, freeing himself from the hands clenching in his. He took a step forward, and the creature swung to face him.

"No!"

The hoarse demand came from behind the creature, and it turned. Chest heaving with battle-lust, it chuckled again. It gave Carl an insulting, condescending glance before dismissing him for worthier prey. The forgotten friar looked beyond the nightmarish vision to his friend, and when their eyes met, and Carl knew Gabriel had been speaking to him.

'_I don't think I could.'_

'_You must.'_

There was no room for argument now, either. He stepped back to the wall, sliding down it to crouch on the floor, eyes fixed on the battle, such as it had become.

The hunter was barely able to move, but when the creature reached for him, he struck out weakly, causing the white-clad figure to rear back with a scream of pain.

Overcome once more with fury, the creature hurled itself on the hunter, forcing a strangled cry of agony from him. The two rolled over on the dais before the creature rose, once more leaving Gabriel lying broken on the stones.

He did not move.

The creature kicked out at him, foot hitting flesh with a sickening, muffled noise. Gabriel was thrown onto his side, rolling over again to land once more on his back with an appalling thud; but other than that, he made no noise.

The creature drew closer, bending over the still form. Carl's breath caught. What it was doing soon became evident. Gabriel's clothes, now no more than tattered rags soaked in blood, were torn carelessly away to reveal the abused flesh beneath. There was so much blood, and in some places the white glint of bone was visible even to Carl, across the room. He felt he might be sick, and turned Michael's face away from the sight.

With brutal efficiency, Gabriel was stripped and laid out on the dais. Abandoning the inert figure for a moment, the man in white moved to the pile of clothes, pawing through them with blood-smeared fingers. Carl stared at the body of his closest friend, misery, fear and dread building up within him. His breath caught when his eyes realized something his mind wanted to refuse. Gabriel was still breathing.

The creature howled its triumph, holding aloft the spikes it had unearthed in one of the hunter's pockets. Recovered from the deacon at the site of Father Williams' murder, at the start of all this, they had been acquired and pocketed. For all their weight, the overlarge nails had been forgotten, become part of the load that the hunter unthinkingly shouldered every day.

Unbelievably, the creature had not yet discovered the Spear, but Carl knew with despairing practicality that at this point, it was only a matter of time – and a very short time at that.

When the creature turned toward his friend, the noise of indrawn breaths around the room shattered the dead stillness. There was nothing they could do but bear horrified witness as first one spike, then the others, were driven through flesh, deep into stone.

The creature surveyed its work with something of a twisted artistic air, and drew from inside its jacket a long, silver dagger. With a sniff of distaste, it dropped the blade to the floor with a clatter and turned once more to the hunter's discarded coat. With a rush of useless adrenaline, Carl realized that the end was at hand.

The black leather was shredded, but the unveiling of the Spear brought no cry of victory. Instead, the creature simply held the rusted blade flat across its palms, pale eyes inspecting it carefully.

Purpose darkening its steps, the being reveling in its opponent's gore turned once more to its victim, helplessly stretched across the dais. With movements too swift to separate, it moved and crouched to the hunter's right. An arm was drawn back, and when released, it moved relentlessly forward. The Spear was driven into Gabriel's side, cutting deeply through flesh, muscle and the organs beneath.

Gabriel jerked, and coughed, spitting out a mouthful of blood. The sickening sound of choking breaths lasted for only two more gasping inhalations, before the body relaxed, looking somehow smaller than Gabriel had ever been in life.

It was over.

Carl dully acknowledged that he should be feeling panic-stricken at the thought of impending Armageddon and worldwide devastation, but all he could think was of something Gabriel had absently muttered while recalling their time in Transylvania. _"Such a burden, such a curse, to be the Left Hand of God."_

It wasn't fair. Life seldom was, but the injustice of this cut him to the core. He couldn't concentrate on his grief, for fear it would come boiling out of him in a wail that would only be silenced with his death. Gabriel had laughed a little, when Carl had called his attention to this random musing, and told the friar some of his battle with Dracula, and the evil one's attempts to lure him to the side of darkness. The lesson to be learned was this, the hunter had informed him; that when evil cannot win, it will do anything and everything in its power to turn enemies to allies. Being on guard against the persuasive voice was more difficult than defiance against a determined enemy.

But it did not matter now – they were mere moments from death, when concern for anything this weighty would be beyond them. The friar closed his eyes, wanting to steady his panting breaths, and again saw the unnaturally sharp blade meeting flesh that was immortal, but not invincible.

The creature stepped back from the corpse of its own making, standing straight and sending an exultant scream ripping through the air.

The sound was exponentially worse than the first bout of reviling laughter. Carl found himself on the ground, curled with Gaspar around Michael, futilely trying to protect the boy, without knowing how he got there. As the crescendo grew, all semblance of coherent thought was driven from him.

It was awful, over-sensitizing and torturing every nerve so that Carl knew exactly when the vessel in his sinuses burst, trailing warm wetness over his lips and cheek. He could clearly hear the screams of men around him, and as he thought he would die with the frightful power of the ululation, it began to lessen.

No – it was not dying away, but being eclipsed by a song that had begun low, and then rose until it was softly filling the chapel, growing ever stronger. It was pure, unlike and beyond anything Carl could have imagined. It filled his mind with serenity and a depth of joy unfelt on earth. It brought him to his feet, as it revived all the mortals within hearing.

The creature, however, seemed aghast by the noise, rendered mute and vulnerable in the face of this power that seemed to come from everywhere at once. A light began to grow, its source the body so thoughtlessly abandoned on the stone dais. Wonder sending his senses reeling, Carl raised his arm to protect his eyes as the light grew brighter and brighter, white and cleansing, burning in its fierceness.

He could see, by the light, the creature's true form revealed as it shed the semblance of humanity to fight a new battle. The maelstrom of evil raged against the light, a shadowy blight upon the earth. But the light grew ever more dazzling, radiance exploding into the room with dizzying intensity.

Below the soul-lifting sound, there came another noise – a tortured wail of pain, which was surmounted by the increase of sound that built higher and higher, until Carl thought his heart might burst from sheer happiness.

The light was brighter than the sun, a pure white that seared into the watchers' eyes, blinding them for long minutes as the light and sound stretched out, before fading into silent darkness. Carl sighed, slumping back to be caught by the stone wall. Senses overcome by the past hour, he dropped into a limp pile of limbs and robes at the foot of the wall, slipping into a welcome stupor.


	17. Chapter 17

_It was like sitting in a summer rain cloud. Gray, and warm. _

_Carl blinked dizzily, somewhat disoriented as he looked carefully – because of his aching head – around. _Ah, I'm dreaming,_ he thought fuzzily, quite relieved at the prospect of still being alive. _

_A soft peal of laughter echoed in the space around him. He blinked. "Gabriel?"_

_A warmly glowing light yielded the familiar figure of his friend, dressed in loose-fitting gray pants and shirt. He'd never seen the hunter in anything quite like it, giving him an impression of both comfort and aloofness. _

"_Carl." The other man smiled a little. "How are you feeling?" _

"_Relatively fine," the friar answered, curiosity overcoming his headache. He moved to the hunter's side, aware for the first time of his physical presence in this place, glancing down momentarily and seeing familiar brown robes. "Where are we?"_

_Gabriel shrugged, with a mysterious smile. "In between," he answered lightly. _

"_In between . . ."_

"_Life and death. This is as close as I could come to you, for now, and vice versa."_

"_You're dead?" The note of alarm, the sudden tensing of features, had Gabriel raising a brow in surprise. _

"_After a fashion," he slowly responded, looking carefully at Carl. _

_The expected explosion was not long in coming. "You're _dead_? You let him kill you?"_

"_Yes," the hunter admitted, catching the other completely off guard. Carl's mouth opened and shut soundlessly, as he stared, flabbergasted. _

"_I'm dreaming," Carl stated decisively as soon as he got his breath back. He continued, refusing to look at his friend. "It's the only logical explanation for this idiocy."_

_Gabriel quirked a brow at him, and said softly, "Be that as it may –"_

"_Why?" The demand was furious, and completely justified, from Carl's view._

_Gabriel took a step forward, holding his hands out placatingly. "It was the only way to truly destroy the Spear," he quietly answered. "Besides, I am one of the sons of God. Death is not the same for me as it is for you." _

"_Destroy the Spear?" Carl questioned. He could hear his own urgency. _

"_Time eventually takes its hold on all things," Gabriel answered, careful to fully explain. "But the Spear was, by its nature, edged to the outside of the effects of Time. It couldn't have been destroyed by anything other than a greater power than that which created it." _

"_The Power of God," Carl nodded in understanding. _

_Gabriel nodded. _

"_So why . . . all this?" Carl flapped a hand impatiently at his surroundings._

"_I needed the Spear, and to call upon the Power of God. There was only one way to ensure that I had both Beelzebul and the Spear where I wanted them when that happened."_

_Carl shook his head. "Did it work?" he asked instead. _

"_What do you think?" the hunter returned. _

_Carl snarled – the man could be damn enigmatic when he felt like it. He heaved a breath, before closing his eyes and counting to ten. Markedly calmer after that, he opened his eyes and queried, almost serenely, "Now what?"_

_Gabriel turned and seemed to study a patch of cloud, and puzzled, Carl directed his gaze alongside the hunter's. He gasped as the mist surrounding them seemed to clear, and they looked down on the inside of the chapel. _

_It was as if nothing had ever happened. The stone altar was unbroken on the dais, the wooden pews neatly lined up. There was no trace of the piles of rubble, or crack marks chronicling each impact with wall or floor. The only things even slightly out of place were the myriad bodies strewn along the walls, members of the Order all. _

"_None were harmed," Gabriel spoke into the silence. Carl released a breath he had been unaware of holding. "They are waking now."_

_Incredibly, some of the men were stirring. Beside a form that looked suspiciously like his own – Carl was incredibly grateful that its face was turned away – a large redheaded man was shifting, grunting as he opened his eyes. "The incident has already been dimmed in their minds," Gabriel continued softly. "They will not forget, but the memory will not be seared into their souls."_

"_You were protecting us," Carl guessed, and the silence was confirmation enough for him. _

"_They will be able to go on with their lives, now," Gabriel spoke as if Carl had said nothing. "Soon, it will be almost like a dream, but one they will remember with full clarity if ever the need arises." _

"_And will it?"_

_Gabriel shrugged in answer to the query. "The future of man lies in each person's choices. I do not know the outcome." _

"_So, that's a 'maybe'?" Carl ventured, somewhat tartly. _

_Gabriel grinned. "That's a 'maybe'." _

"_But – why are you telling me this, if it's as good as forgotten?" _

_Gabriel sobered. "Because, for a few in this room, this event will never be able to be completely dismissed from awareness."_

"_And – I'm one of those?" Carl wasn't exactly thrilled at the prospect. _

"_One of several." _

"_Oh?" The friar's curiosity was evident, and brought another smile to Gabriel's face. _

"_Patience," he returned. "You'll see." _

"_You could just tell me now," he grumbled good-naturedly. _

"_There's not enough time," Gabriel pointed out reasonably. _

_And with sudden rising panic, Carl realized that he was right. He could see his own form stirring in the room below, could feel a strange tugging at his essence, and knew it was almost time to –_

"_Wait!" he called, realizing suddenly that he was fading away. Gabriel focused his attention on the other man. "Will I see you again?" he pleaded. _

_Gabriel smiled. "What do you think?" _

_A moment's pause, only, before the confident response. " 'Are not all angels spirits in the divine service, sent to serve for the sake of those who are to inherit salvation?'"_

"_Hebrews 1:14," Gabriel softly acknowledged the scripture, his smile a gentle thing. "Just so." _

"_So you will return?" _

"_In a while. Sleep, Carl." _

Carl opened one eye, carefully, and then squeezed it shut. The light, faint as it was, was almost blinding. "Urg," he huffed, shifting himself over and hitting something soft.

"Whazzat?" came a groggy, familiar voice.

Carl groaned again. Of all people, why – "Gaspar," he grunted.

"That's me."

"I know. It's Carl." The speaker had more success opening his eyes this time, and decided to gather his strength before attempting to sit.

"Carl. What happened?" Gaspar again.

Biting back the grumpy, automatic, 'How should I know?', Carl gave the question some serious thought. "We won," he managed, using the wall to prop himself up. He took a good look around the room, noting that many of the members of the Order had wobbled to their feet, or managed to pull themselves more or less upright on the pews.

"Thank God," Gaspar rasped, and Carl turned his head toward the movement he could just discern out of the corner of his eye. Gaspar was helping Michael up. The two leant, exhausted, against the wall.

"I hope that –"

The main doors burst open at that moment, and the remaining members of the Order, with the obvious exception of Jinette, streamed in. "Taddeo. What in all the hells-"

"I'm not a fool, Gaspar," the healer responded tartly. "One of your men managed to make it back to the Basilica, and let us know that it was over but you were all in terrible shape. Not hurt, he told us, just somehow exhausted." Taddeo gave Carl a searching glance, taking in the blood crusting his lip and lower face, and smeared down the front of his robe. "Perhaps he was being a bit liberal in his definition of 'fine'," the healer mused.

Carl swiped an arm over his lower face, and under his nose, wincing at the pull of dried gore on his skin.

Taddeo started directing the men with him to assist the members of the Order. Gaspar, insisting that he needed no help, resisted. But he froze in mid-protest, getting his first good look at the chapel. "Wait!" he gasped, staring wildly around. "It – it doesn't look as if anything -"

"I know," Carl returned, placing a hand on the other man's arm, attempting to calm him.

"But where – where's the body?" Gaspar hissed in an undertone. "Where's Van Helsing?"

Carl opened his mouth, searching for an explanation, but couldn't come up with anything even remotely plausible, and so settled for a shrug. "He'll turn up," he said at last.

Gaspar gave him a queer look, and so Carl pulled gently at his arm, urging the recalcitrant man to follow Taddeo, for Michael's sake. Remembering the youth, Gaspar was distraught to find him pale and shaking, but resisting departure from the chapel until Gaspar and Carl accompanied him.

Taddeo's infirmary was nowhere near large enough to accommodate the weary, inexplicably drained men, and so all were escorted to their quarters while the healers patrolled the halls.

A good, long sleep had all on their feet again, and to Carl's surprise very little was said about the incident. When those who had not been there asked, they received vaguely satisfactory answers, but if anyone besides Carl and Gaspar fully remembered the details – and Carl suspected there must be more – no one was saying anything. But Van Helsing's initials were kept up on the large slate assignment board, for no reason anyone cared to mention.

After their speedy recovery, routine returned to the Holy City faster than Carl had believed possible. The catacombs were a site of dedicated sweat and toil, repairs being made quickly to get the inventors and weapon-smiths back to work. The Vatican had been somewhat cut off, for the time being, from its other field agents, who were reporting in and requesting information in a frenzy, fearful of an attack on their home base. Despite the speed at which the Order's base of operations was being rebuilt, much had been lost in the way of valuable experiments and equipment – much that would be difficult to replace.

So the work was plentiful enough to keep Carl's mind and body occupied. The only time he was able to ruminate on the disappearance of his friend was between the moments of awareness and sleep, at night, before he was overcome by exhaustion.

It was nine days after the incident, when Carl thought he spied something out of the corner of his eye while hurrying through the central arena of the Holy City. A familiar figure, dressed discreetly in black, was making its way towards the steps of the Basilica. Turning, hardly daring to believe it, he rushed past the worshippers congregating before the Apostolic Palace, following the tall figure.

"Gabriel!" he called, sure of the identity of the stranger.

The man turned, and the hunter's familiar face smiled at him. "Carl," he replied with a grin, grasping the other's arm in a strong grip.

They moved out of the way of the groups of people, pressing into the shadows near the wall.

Carl searched for something to say, a proper welcome for his friend, but unbidden his greatest worry spilled from his lips. "Is it truly over?"

Gabriel's smile faded a little, his eyes turning inward. "It never is," he murmured quietly. Carl stilled, staring hard at the Destroyer, who blinked and smiled. "But if you mean the business with the Spear – yes. The Spear is destroyed."

"And – the creature?"

Gabriel shrugged. "Beelzebul can't be destroyed – not yet. But he has returned to his master, and is confined there by his own doing. Should he reappear on Earth, I would know instantly. And then nothing would stay my hand." The grim words should have made Carl feel uneasy, but instead they brought to him a feeling of security, and he breathed a silent sigh.

"And – are you returning to the Order?" Carl asked, a little hesitantly. The Order had needed Van Helsing, as one able to do what most could not. He had no idea, however, if his fellows were prepared to deal with the being that now nonchalantly leant against the wall next to him. He could see the humanity, but he could also see the . . . _otherness_ . . . within his friend. He wondered if this new sight would ever truly fade.

"Yes," Gabriel answered, and the compassion in his eyes seemed to answer more than just Carl's spoken questions.

The Destroyer pushed off the wall and began to walk toward the main entrance to the Basilica. The friar was driven to inquire, overcome by his own curiosity as he walked alongside. "So . . . how long, exactly, have you been – you know, here?"

"Since the time of man began," Gabriel answered, and Carl knew he was aware that it was not an answer at all.

Feigning indignation, and working hard to keep the smile from his lips, he asked, "Well, how long do you think you'll be sticking around, then?"

"I thought you knew your catechism, Carl," the hunter gently teased. At his friend's confused look, he began to quietly recite, "I believe in one God, the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth, and all that is Seen and Unseen."

"And in Jesus Christ, his only son, our Lord," Carl picked up the prayer, his intonation just above a whisper. "Who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, and became man. For our sake he was persecuted under Pontius Pilate. He suffered, died and was buried. On the third day he rose again, in fulfillment of the scriptures. He will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead."

At that point, he was sidetracked by Gabriel's satisfied nod. "What?" he barely managed to squeak out. "Until – the second coming?" Shock pervaded his tone.

Gabriel paused at the door to the Basilica. "My duty on this Earth is to obey the will of God. I am bound here, until my brother returns to fulfill the prophecy."

"Your – brother?" Carl gaped.

Gabriel smiled, a little. "Yes," he said quietly.

Of all the memories that he had reacquired, it was clear that this was both the dearest to the Destroyer and the most unexpected to the friar. "Ah," Carl managed as they slipped through the ornate doors. "And – you remember, now?"

"Everything."

The one word was filled with indescribable emotion. Sorrow wrapped in joy, pain and hope intermingled with every other type of delight and grief imaginable. It was overwhelming in its extremes, but it brought smiles to the faces of both men.

"Welcome back."

_Fin_

PERDITOR is the sequel to this fic. See my Bio for more info.

Sorry for the excessive delay. Unlike the rest of this story, this chapter just didn't want to come, and I held off until exams eased up. Thank you for sticking with me throughout the length of this fic (wow, 4 months shy of a year! I can't believe it's done!). The undying support of my reviewers, as well as the occasional, much-needed prods to get my butt moving, have been sincerely appreciated. I hope that you decide to stick around for the sequel!


End file.
